The Phantom of the Red River
by MissGabriellaXIII
Summary: Ever wondered what Erik got up to in Tonkin, Vietnam? A little exploration of what Susan Kay left out in her account of the Phantom's travels...
1. Chapter 1: The Well of the Dead

_**A/N:**__** "**_**"It's the simplest trick you've ever seen," he said, "but it's very useful for breathing and singing underwater. I learned it from the pirates in Tonkin, who could stay submerged and hidden for hours in the riverbeds."**_**"**_

_That was what started me off! Seeing as Kay left that bit of Erik's life out in her novel, I became quite interested..._

_I set about poring through atlases to find out where the hell Tonkin was, and when I found it I began to research it quite a bit. It turns out that there were actually French colonies there, in Tonkin, during Leroux's time! I even found a picture of a French official interrogating a real Tonkin pirate (le gasp! :O I can send you the link to it if you like) And so I have decided to write down my thoughts about what Erik must have gotten up to in Vietnam when he went there..._

_Just to warn everyone in advance - posting may be extremely slow, because this year is my GCSE year, and I will be taking the exams in less than 95 days...(panic). I know it's a bit crazy to be writing a big story like this now of all times, when I'll be juggling essays and coursework and deadlines and revision, but this tale has been growing in my mind right from the beginning of the summer hols (when I went to the mountains in Bulgaria for one long, hellish month). I'll try my best!_

_Oh yes, and just in case anyone gets confused, during this particular time period Vietnam was no longer referred to as "Vietnam", but as the three areas of Cochinchina (the South bit), Annam (er...the middle bit) and Tonkin (the North bit), defined by the French. Vietnamese people were called Annamites, even if they weren't from the Annam part of Vietnam. Right, enough of the waffle, and let's get on with the show!_

_Please remember that although all the other characters in this fic are mine, I do not own Erik, nor am I at all fluent in Vietnamese. Enjoy!_

* * *

I was, regrettably, in something of an impasse.

My hands were bound with painful tightness, and so were my feet. Rope, they had used - rope that made up for its age with its toughened strength. I could not struggle, nor could I use my voice to overpower my captors.

They had come in the night; every last one of them had come with their torches and lanterns and ghastly old ropes to bind the monster as he lay dormant and vulnerable in his bed. It almost made me laugh, in a cynical way, the fact that they had attacked on the very first night I had managed to sleep.

Trussed up like an animal - my mask dislodged from my face, my cries of outrage gagged by a strip of fabric and a small rock that held down my tongue - I was dragged by the crowd away from the small dwelling I had haunted, and unceremoniously trailed through the dirt as they marched up the dark, sandy track on the hillside. They were heading seaward, towards the coast, leaving the flickering lights of the village behind. Night though it was, the silvery crescent of the moon shed enough of a glimmer to illuminate the waves of the sea just beyond the next grassy hill. Would they be throwing me into the water, then? Casting my less-than-welcome body into the Tonkin Gulf? What a way to be ended...drowned like any criminal or freak needed to be disposed of quietly. Wouldn't the local fishermen of a Gulf island be surprised when my waterlogged corpse bobbed up in their nets!

Fighting my captors was useless, as I quickly learnt. I was being dragged along by two of the younger, stronger Annamite men who held me in a grip of iron. Although I, too, was more or less in my prime and quite a tall man, there was nothing I could do with my hands and feet bound and my voice muffled. And yet despite the fact that they knew I was well and truly incapacitated, I could smell the rancid, acrid scent of the men's sweat, sour over the sweetness of the night's sea-breeze. They were still afraid of me - still wary of the tall, thin man with the pale, cadaverous face and bewitching voice. Their collective fears were deep and primal: to them, I was a supernatural being, a creature of many wiles who could do most anything with his terrible "magic". What is unknown to man is feared, which therefore explains my most unfortunate predicament. Now that my mask was off, especially, - and I would miss that mask quite a bit - their wariness and disgust had doubled. In their eyes I was never simply a poor deformed man with the face of a corpse, but, because of the various talents they had seen me demonstrate, they regarded me as an odd creature with the powers of a demon. They believed, in fact, that I was a dead man raised from my eternal rest to entrance mortals with my voice, and then steal their souls, or such ideas along those lines. They had perversely delighted in formulating tales about me, satisfying their morbid need to explain my hideousness.

Now, it seemed, they had taken their decision, and decided that a musically talented, illusion-performing corpse of dubious origin was not welcome in their coastal town. I could only wonder what death they would choose to inflict upon me...

As I pondered the nature of my impending end, I suddenly became vividly aware of my surroundings, as if the world was taunting me with what I was about to lose. The sweet breeze caressed my blighted face and stirred my black, rumpled locks, and the stars above seemed to twinkle intensely. I could hear the chirping of the night-insects, the distant rush of the waves, the deep crackle of the torches held by my captors, torches that lit up the grass around us in a flickering, yellow glow while the large, dusky-winged moths fluttered wildly about. _Quel cortège_ - what a procession! I became aware, too, of the unpleasant earthy taste of the rough rock that had been coarsely pushed into my mouth and secured by the gag. My arms were beginning to ache terribly from being held up by the two brawny youths, and my bare feet were sore and bleeding from being dragged across the long stretch of dirt path. No, no...why was I becoming more aware of my body when that body was about to be put to an end? It defied all logic; I despaired. Ventriloquistic skills would not save me now - even _I_ needed to move at least part of my tongue to exert my will. And, truth be told, I was scared quite stiff.

I twisted my head to look up at one of the men that was dragging me along. Judging by his build, he must have been a sailor of some description, and his rough handling of me was quickly making me develop quite some ill feelings for sailor lads in general. This sailor lad in particular appeared thoroughly unsettled by my yellow-eyed, glimmering gaze, and refused to look at me. My heart was beginning to thump wildly in my chest as we approached the crest of the last hill. Oh, dear goodness...I had secured my own freedom in Persia and Constantinople only to be neatly disposed of in this far-off Asian country. To think it had all been for nothing...

The sea was only a stretch of field away. I wondered bitterly whether death would ever bring me peace -

Abruptly, the procession turned right, away from the coast. What were they doing? Were they going to set fire to me with their flaming bundles of straw instead? I began to wriggle slightly in my bonds; I had never really liked intense heat much. It would have been far more convenient if they had just consented to drop me into the sea...

Up ahead, I glimpsed a huge, round stone sitting in the middle of the flat plain. It was as large as a millstone, and looked quite odd, sitting on its own in the middle of the lush, long grass. I frowned in confusion. Was this some manner of sacrificial table? Would I be set fire to _here_? Apparently not, it seemed; the "table" was far too low for that. I watched curiously as the crowd drew to a stop, and a group of well-muscled, able men separated itself from my funereal procession. Before my intrigued gaze, they each took large, thick wooden staffs that they held and put them beneath the stone. Once it had been levered up slightly, they began to push it with all their might. Muscles shunting as they shoved, the stone began to slide to one side, revealing a large hole in the ground. My eyes widened; it appeared that the stone was a cover, a lid for some immense pit. Aha...I could envision their endeavour now.

My guesses proved to be right as I found myself being led towards the lip of the crevice by the agitated crowd -

My stomach turned and I almost retched at the awful stench that rose from that pit. It was the odour of decay, of rot, of _death_. The foul reek hung in a heady miasma about the newly-uncovered hole, and several of the men around me had covered their noses with their sleeves. What was in that dark, evil-smelling pit I suddenly did not want to know. Faced with death, I acquired an unexpected urge to live; I thrashed and I struggled against my captors, at the same time trying not to inhale the awful scent. One would think that not having a nose would be a useful asset here, but this was most regrettably not the case. I dug in the heels of my already raw feet, but as they pushed me closer to the pit my knees folded, weakened by the supreme stench. The rock in my mouth was truly making me gag now, my yellow eyes watering, stung by the vile smell.

My captors were unrelenting and entirely merciless, though, and forced me forwards. In vain I attempted to exert my will over them using my voice...the only sounds I could produce were muffled, distressed yelps, far from the powerful, commanding tones I had intended. The dark pit yawned wide and black before my feet. As my head spun with vertigo, I could easily have believed this was the very pit of Hell, judging by the way it made adrenalin pound in my veins as memories of my fears as a child came back. Yes, there had been a time when I was not as steeled against the world and the weakening emotions of men as I was now - as a young boy, I, too, had had my share of earthly fears. As I stared now in horror at the looming hole, I recalled my ancient, ancient fear of the darkness. I had been locked in many dark rooms as a child, left prey to nightmares and my own mind. One might even assume that it was not the darkness itself I feared, but the absence of visual distraction, which left me alone with my terrible thoughts. Those old fears rose up in me once more, unbidden, at the sight of that gaping abyss, and my limbs began to quiver. I detested this weakness in the face of the adrenalin-laced emotions rushing through me, while I vainly tried to fight off my captors. Suddenly, they pushed me forwards in one surge, their cries ringing in my ears -

I breathlessly teetered on the very edge of the crevice, bare white toes curling desperately around the earthy lip, and then one of the levering-staffs was slammed into my back, pitching me forwards and into the blackness.

* * *

My fall through the stinking darkness was terrible...my hands were tied and unable to brace me or balance my inexorable plummeting. The empty, festered air whistled about my ears in a high wind, and in the spiralling confusion the side of my hip glanced off the wall of the pit. I barely skimmed it, but I was nevertheless tossed uncontrollably, hitting the right side of my face against the wall - and since I was falling past it so quickly, it tore at my skin in a vicious burn. My cry of pain was snatched away by the wind, and as I tumbled head over heels, droplets of blood flying upwards, I caught wild glimpses of the night sky above me - quick flashes of the freedom that was falling away from me as I, too, toppled -

'Argh!'

Unexpectedly, I landed, and heard the sharp, dry crack of bones breaking echo about the pit's dark walls. For a moment I lay still and numb, warm blood flowing stickily down my face as I wondered why the hell I was still alive when I had most probably broken every last bone in my body. Was fate really quite so sadistic towards me?

After a moment, when I failed to die, I mustered the courage to shift slightly. To my extreme surprise and considerable relief, I found that the upper half of my body was still intact; from what I could see, no bones poked gruesomely through my skin or jutted through my garments. I shifted my legs, and discovered that they, too were not broken in any way. Odd...

'Ouch.' Gingerly touching the right side of my face proved to be not much of a good idea; it burned like hell and I briefly wondered whether I had left half of my face behind during my fall, judging by the pain and bleeding. The thick blood now dripping off my chin and onto my neck and shirt seemed to be mixed with various clumps of dirt and earth, no doubt picked up from my encounter with the wall. I needed to clean the wound properly, to get rid of all the loose dirt upon it, but there was little chance of finding any clean water down here. I sighed, blinking blood out of my eye and pushing a few unruly strands of hair back from where they hung over my injury. I was lucky I did not have my face turned more to the right when I fell; the speed I was going at could easily have torn an eye out as well as the quarter of my face it had also recently taken. However, I still felt rather resentful...were my features not hideous enough as they were? Did I really need some extra scarring and missing lumps of flesh? I decided the best thing to do for the moment would be to simply leave it alone. I had little to stem the bleeding with - but even if I did, I would probably work some stones and pieces of earth into the wounds and get them infected, which would certainly not be very aesthetically pleasing in the long term. Nevertheless, I dabbed painfully at the mess of my face with my shirt's hem.

The only other injury I could find was a mildly sprained left wrist, which I could tend to easily. Apart from that, the rest of my bones seemed to have been more jarred by my fall than broken. But if this was indeed true, then what had snapped when I had landed? This question almost made me swallow the rock still in my mouth - which, I might add, had nearly shattered my teeth on the way down here.

Remembering I was bound, I quickly tore at my gag and ejected the rock, then set about untying my hands and feet - taking extra care with the aching wrist I had landed on. When I was free, I sat up - and felt something shift sickeningly beneath me.

I stopped breathing, then touched the ground. It was firm, but not hard, and covered in some sort of..._fabric_? Perplexed and unsettled, I felt around and found my spidery fingers encountering something unpleasantly cold and clammy...when I touched something hard and covered with hair, I drew my hand away with a yelp of revulsion as I realised.

_I was sitting on a dead body_.

The realisation dawned on me slowly and awfully, like the sun rising on the morning of Judgement Day. I was not, as I had first presumed, sitting on the floor of the pit, but perched on top of a vast mound of corpses and skeletons at the bottom of a ghastly well!

I had wondered where the indigenous Annamite locals buried their dead, and it seemed I had found out - only not quite in the way I had hoped. The bones snapping when I landed...they had been the bones of the sorry chap who had broken my fall. Now I was surrounded by corpses either in sacks or simply tossed in as they were, completely alone and _still alive_.

It was obvious the locals had put two and two together and decided the best place for a living corpse would be with his fellow cadavers. I had been thrown into a well of the dead, where departed relatives slowly accumulated over the decades, like water in a hole. Fate was cruel indeed to make me survive my fall, my landing cushioned by a heap of dead bodies! Now I was doomed to wander about this pit, going slowly insane while I gradually perished from starvation and thirst, or else bled to death from my more or less open wound. I was a dead man, in all senses of the word but the literal one, which was not at all to my credit.

'_Bordel_!' I swore in my native French, getting painfully and shakily to my feet, scowling at the small crescent of light so far above me that was the mouth of the pit. To my shock, the crescent was growing thinner...I could hear the echoes of the crowd rejoicing as the stone was slowly sliding back into place over my new prison. In a matter of minutes, I was shut in complete and total darkness and silence, with only the dead for company.

The only positive side I could see of my predicament was that I was now more or less used to the stench of rotting bodies.

* * *

I blindly explored the area of the pit's floor, stumbling over the occasional corpse. I ran my spidery fingers over damp, earthy wall. In such a moist, dark environment, disease was probably rife. Who knew what was crawling all over those decomposing bodies...I would have to take care what I did down here, if I did not want to become victim to one of the terrible illnesses that bred on the cadavers. However, as my future was yet uncertain, I decided that it might not matter. But just in case, I tore a strip of fabric from my shirt, and tied it to cover the gaping, vulnerable hole of my nose, and my mouth, tugging it into a knot at the back of my head to firmly secure it. I was careful to bundle more material beneath the makeshift mask, to serve as a compress for my still-smarting wound. Another strip of my shirt was also duly used to tightly bind my sprained wrist. Once this was done, I set about calculating the size of the pit.

From my position by the wall, I put my back against it, spreading my arms out to get an idea of the curve. Once I had made sure my body was facing the right direction, I set off in a straight line at a right-angle to the pit's wall. I walked in carefully counted, even strides, stepping over skeletons and bodies until my toes touched the opposite wall. Eight strides, roughly...that made it quite a fair-sized pit, which was nevertheless rather well-filled with corpses.

I found the huge mound of piled bodies I had fallen on, and discovered that the areas further from it had less cadavers lying about. I proceeded to haul the littered bodies onto the larger heap, clearing a small area near the wall. Some of the corpses were heavy with rot and collected water, others withered away and light. Some were even just scraps of flesh still clinging onto bones. All of these I tossed or dragged away as best as I could, before the area I had cleared for myself was completely free of corpses.

My task done, I sat down with my back to the uneven wall, pondering my fate. What would become of me now? I ardently wished I had been burnt alive or tossed into the sea after all; sitting here in the dark with hundreds of corpses was no fun at all. The longer I sat, the colder I became, too; from the lack of exertion, and from the after-effects of adrenalin and shock, a chill was stealing over me. The humid night had been so much warmer above ground, but down here it was quite cold. The fact that I had torn so much fabric from my shirt meant that it gave me much less covering - I felt rather ridiculous, wearing a torn shirt that left half of my midriff bare. I got to my feet and wandered across to the pile of bodies, rubbing my pale forearms vigorously. I usually didn't feel the cold so much; in the harsh winter of Nijni-Novgorod I had fared relatively well, but it seemed my extensive stay in the comparitively more tropical climates of Turkey, Persia and India had habituated me more to the heat, despite never really warming my ever-cold hands and feet. My phalanges were so long that the blood didn't really seem to get to them...

After a short while of fumbling, I came upon what I was looking for. I reached down and, after untying a few knots here and there, pulled a funeral shroud away from a body. This I wrapped around myself for warmth, tucking the foul-smelling cloth about my skeletal limbs as I sat myself back down by the wall. What was there to do now but simply sit still and try to conserve energy and body heat?

When the sounds of my movements ceased, I became aware of other sounds in the pit; I could hear insects and scavengers that had somehow entered the well beginning to feed on the dead. I rocked back and forth gently, feeling quite alone - they weren't the best of company, in reality, these corpses. The chattering and clicking of the various creatures that had infiltrated this burial pit was becoming quite off-putting, too. I decided that this place was very much against my liking. I may have looked like a cadaver myself, but the important thing was that _I was alive_. Unfortunately, it appeared that this discrepancy had been overlooked and the townspeople had decided to cast me in this pit anyway. And there was me believing that the locals were only curious and welcoming towards strangers...

Well, they had certainly been curious about _me_, and no mistake. My mask had garnered many stares, and my thin, long limbs and stark white skin made me stand out quite a bit against the locals. They had certainly been intrigued, too, to learn of my various talents. My reputation soon spread, and in time I was known by many as "_Thày Phù Thuy_" - the sorcerer. As nobody knew my true name - or, at least, the name I had assumed - due to the fact that I did not engage socially at all with the locals, Thày Phù Thuy became the only name I was known by. This did not bother me, to tell the truth; I had been given many diverse names during my travels...my earliest acquired one being, of course, "_Le Mort Vivant_" - the living corpse. That was back in my native country...I had never truly missed it to any extent, since it held such terrible memories for me. I had run away from France with the travelling gypsies, as one of their sideshows for the paying public. My face, of course, earned me that name, as well as my emaciated appearance. Life was never easy for me...but of course, why should it ever be, with a physiognomy like mine?

From Rouen I henceforth made my way through France and across Europe, trying to leave my past behind every step of the way. I grew up constantly moving, always travelling between the shows in which I was exhibited. Gradually, though, as my skills became almost more crowd-drawing than my features, I established my own sideshow, until I had more or less left the gypsies altogether. In Russia, I became known as "_Beliya Prizrak_", the White Ghost, and when I entered Persia I became the Trickster, the Trap-door Lover and, most importantly, the Angel of Doom. Those were dark days, but the little Sultana did so laugh at my clever torture devices...

In India, I had been dubbed the Silent Viper due to my exceptional skills with the Punjab lasso, and in Constantinople I was referred to as "_Siyah Hayalet_" - the Black Wraith. My names always changed with my location...for instance, on the boat to Vietnam I had assumed the name of "Erik" again - a perfectly ordinary name that had come to me by simple chance when passing out of France - purely for the sake of politeness to the captain. I also quite liked the name "Erik"...it was simple, easily remembered, and thankfully not a description of my appearance or behaviour. It was just a name...but of course, it was rare that I was given a chance to use it. I supposed none of the corpses here with me would care if I informed them that they could call me by the name of "Erik"...

The fear-driven people who had thrown me down here, and who had supposedly killed the terrible Thày Phù Thuy, had at first been curious, then surprised, then wary and afraid of what I could do. It was when they had seen my face, of course, that they had decided to take action...and so here I was, sitting wrapped in a borrowed funeral shroud, listening to the corpses decompose quietly around me. It was certainly not the ideal way to spend a Wednesday night, for sure...

* * *

Hours passed. Seconds were counted by the throbs of my aching wrist, bound by the strip of fabric, and of the steady trickle of blood seeping through the compress on my face. Sleep was beyond me; I fumbled absent-mindedly inside the pocket of my now-ragged shirt, and pulled out the old watch I kept on a chain. However, it was useless to me, for this darkness was as black as pitch, and even holding it to my ear did not help me for my fall had shaken the delicate mechanism of springs and cogs, silencing the ticking of the hands. All I could do was run the chain through my fingers and polish the smooth surface of the watch with my thumb. I truly hated this sensation of utter helplessness; I suddenly yearned for daylight - longed for it as I never had before. No chance of it, however: reaching the surface would entail a long, vertical climb, blocked by a heavy slab of stone that needed four strong men and considerable leverage to push aside.

I sat despondently, wrapped in the shroud, bleeding, and perfectly wretched. There were so many things I could be doing at the moment...this method of slow execution was not at all convenient with my plans. Any warning would have been nice; I would have liked to tie up my affairs. The villagers were bound to be rifling through my possessions at this very moment, clumsily handling my delicate inventions and ruining the interesting chemicals I stored for some of my illusions. No doubt they would burn all I owned, for fear of my evil having contaminated it...

At the moment, though, this was the least of my concerns. I had no way of getting out of this pit, and what was more, my spine was beginning to bruise - most colourfully, I imagined - from my fall into this hell-hole.

I was, as the delightful expression so aptly puts it, _vraiment dans la merde_.


	2. Chapter 2: Fate Takes a Turn

_**A/N:** Hello! Just back from a very lovely holiday in Scotland. I am completely in love with it and I want to live there...I stayed in Edinburgh but I still got to take a little train ride to Glasgow to have a look around at the town where Gerry Butler was born..._

_Right...I know this little tale isn't entirely historically accurate in some parts, because most of the interesting stuff in Tonkin happened later in the 19th century...some things even after our Phantom's death! And I'm also pretty certain that 19th-century indigenous Vietnamese villagers did not chuck their dead into a big pit in the ground - that was actually what some Medieval Middle-Eastern people did (I think). Never mind, this is fiction, so I can take some liberties! :D Thank you very much for reviewing, Chapucera!_

* * *

I must have slept, or fainted, or lapsed into a despondent reverie, for I woke several hours later with my mouth dry from sleep, and feeling rather groggy. I had slumped over to one side, my neck uncomfortably wedged against the damp, spongy wall. I winced, rubbing the sore muscles, then realised with great annoyance that my right eye would not open. This was probably because I had been resting the right half of my face against the wall, diverting the steady spread of blood through my makeshift compress. The blood seemed to have also clotted in the wound, creating a black mess that covered the entire side of my face, including my eye, which was now consequently sealed shut with dried blood. Irritably, I spat onto my hand, for lack of a better method, and used the moisture to dislodge the blood from my eye. Inelegant as this was, I did happen to be at the bottom of a pit with no other medical alternatives. My eyelid gradually became unstuck, and my entire peripheral vision, though currently smothered in darkness, was effectively restored. Grimacing, I then gathered the courage to untie the makeshift mask and ease away the compress to examine what had happened to my injury after my hours of unconsciousness. It no longer bled, which was a good sign, for the compress was wet through already - but on the other hand, the blood had clotted and congealed into a vile black substance on the side of my face. I delicately prodded at it experimentally; the black stuff was obscenely soft, almost fleshy in its texture. I shuddered, revolted. As much as I was loath to touch it, I would need to clean this wound. Although I could still see nothing, I could clearly imagine the reddish-blackness of the clotting, as I had seen and experienced it countless times before in my life. However, I could do little more than attempt to pull away the sickening clotted stuff away from the wound. Yet as it was so vile and gummy and slippery, I decided not to risk opening the wound again and bleeding to death. I gave a sigh, gingerly reapplying the compress and tying the "mask" over it again. Did it matter, though, whether I bled to death? Was I not going to die anyway? In dejection, I slumped backwards, lying listless on the floor of the pit, waiting for death to come.

* * *

The cold, clammy darkness of the pit had not alleviated in the slightest since my arrival. It was really rather inhospitable, and, by and by, I found myself seized once more by a mad desperation to escape, even though I could see nothing.

Stumbling over carcasses and cracking rib cages underfoot, I frenziedly groped my way to the nearest wall. My skin was suddenly crawling with disgust, and the only thought in my mind was to leave the pit. I splayed my long hands on the moist, earthy wall, brushing away the hard bodies of various insects as I ran my fingers over the uneven surface. There were many, many handholds here, but I would never succeed in prying the lid from this well I was buried in. I was like a spider trapped in a jar - helpless, desperate! Nothing I carried upon my person was of any use at all here, and this stinking darkness seemed to leech away my calm intelligence and logic, gradually turning me into a shivering wreck incapable of formulating any strategy of escape. I cursed the fact that I had even come into this country, but it was done now...

I sagged against the wall, passing my right hand shakily over my maskless face, still covered by the cloth. What use was that cloth here? I might as well have taken it off, as I was going to die whatever I -

A rustling nearby stilled my movements. A large creature - perhaps a lizard or other scavenger - was passing close to me. I stood frozen. Perhaps the meat of this creature - whatever it was - could sustain me for a few days, and help me to get my wits back?

Stealthily, I followed it, creeping nearer and nearer until I was sure that -

I froze a second time as I suddenly perceived a distinct _lightness_ pervading from behind a small pile of heaped bones...when I caught the sweet scent of a lighter, clearer air, I jerked my body into motion and scrambled towards the dim lightness. It was not even a glow, but rather a patch of darkness that merely seemed...less dark. The scavenger had disappeared around that area, and when I felt the wall I collapsed to the ground in an ungainly heap of limbs, ignoring the twinges in my left wrist and scrabbling at the earth. When I found a small opening in the wall, my heart leapt in my chest. A hole? No, better yet - a _tunnel_! I felt its contours ecstatically, then lost no time in crawling into it, not caring where it led. This, I presumed, was a tunnel dug by the scavengers of the fields, eager to get at the carrion buried deep inside the ground. The walls of the passage were smooth and relatively firm, making the ceiling less likely to cave in over my head. I hastened my pace, shuddering at the thought of being buried alive in this tunnel. Briefly, as I broke through spiderwebs, I wondered whether I was heading towards the underground burrow of some creature, but as I progressed, it became certain that I was not. For I could now sense a most pleasing zephyr of scented morning wind blowing through the tunnel - a light gust of air that effaced the pungent odour of rot and putrefaction. My breaths became deeper as I savoured this, my speed increasing until I was blissfully blinded by the oh-so-welcome rays of the glorious sun, which was rising in a broad, majestic disc above the glittering sea.

I had emerged into a cove near a deserted beach strewn with pebbles, washed gently by the sea. Almost weeping with my gratitude, I staggered away from the tunnel's mouth and collapsed onto my knees, silently thanking fate for letting the scavenger enter that tunnel before my eyes. For a few minutes I lay weak and ragged on the ground, staring up at the pink-azure sky I thought I would never see again. When my strength was at last recovered, I sat up, shaking sand from my hair and shrugging the funeral shroud from my shoulders -

Something within the shroud clinked. Curious, I rummaged through its rough dark folds, and found, to my surprise, a rather fine jewelled bracelet, caught in the frayed threads of the burial shroud. Obviously I had come upon the jewels buried with the corpse I had taken the shroud from...

The sharp, refreshing sea air was beginning to heighten my senses once more, and I began to contemplate how many priceless jewels the other cadavers might yield was I ready to plunge back into that darkness again...

* * *

A few hours later, I emerged back into the blessed sunshine again with several handfuls of gems, diamonds and gold and silver chains, as well as quite a selection of rings. Of course, I did not feel the slightest twinge of remorse at my own actions; after all, what use were these jewels to the corpses that wore them so vainly? It had taken me quite a while to find those goods in the dark, and besides, I knew I would be able to sell these for a small fortune with the next merchant I met, thus guaranteeing me something to eat and drink for approximately the next twenty years, judging by the promising appearance of some of these gems. My pragmatic side had always dominated my compassionate side during such times.

From an early age I had exercised care over battering guilt out of my heart, and I prided myself in being quite immune to most of the other unnecessary, weakening human emotions. What good had guilt or compassion ever done me, whenever I had shown them? None, that is the answer. Besides, all my pity was largely directed at my own sorry self, more often than not...

In the safety of the tucked-away cove, I spilled the contents of my pockets, calmly counting each little treasure I had taken and estimating its worth. I had such weakness for beauty, and I took a detached pleasure in holding each brilliant gem up to the sun to see its colourful glimmer. Money and wealth did not especially grip my fancy, though I loved to live in reasonable luxury. There is little shine, really, to gold, but these eastern jewels I held were quite pretty indeed.

My sharp, calculating gaze helped me separate the false precious stones from the genuine ones without difficulty, and soon I had wrapped up my new total worldly wealth in a small square of cloth. It was all I had; doubtlessly the gold hidden in my house had been discovered and stolen by now. Still, it did not matter, as I was once more wealthy. Who would have thought those corpses could provide anything other than a truly horrendous stench?

I carefully laid the bundle of jewels and rings behind a rock, and then proceeded to divest myself of my clothing. The smell of rot still clung most unpleasantly to my skin, and I was eager to be rid of that horrendous odour as quickly as possible. Once my ragged garments had been placed close at hand, I waded into the salty water that lay pooled around the mouth of the cove, between the large rocks that separated it from view of the sea. Silt rose in clouds around my bony toes, obscuring my feet as I immersed myself in the pleasantly warm water. I began to scrub vigorously at my pale, skeletal arms, distantly recalling a place where the seawater was usually freezing cold and a deep, murky green. I remembered a small beach that I had walked along, as a very little boy - a cold, stony beach blown by the biting winds and washed by the glacial waters of _la Manche_ - the English Channel. It was the beach that was only a short way away from my mother's house, near Rouen in France. It was the beach I had haunted as a child, whenever I could escape unnoticed from that awful prison of a house...oh, how I had despised that house, when I had grown old enough to know that my life was not a normal one! My mother had hated me so profoundly, not only for my cadaverous appearance but for my inhuman voice and mental capacities. She detested and feared my earliest attempts at magic tricks and illusions, and was terrified by my talents. As for my father, I never saw him , nor did he see me...and I suppose it is quite fortunate for him that he did not. Family always mattered little to me, all my life - they were the ones who must have hated me most, for they, unlike others, could not be rid of me because of the blood ties. Ah, if my mother could see her only son now; plundering corpses, ending lives, but rising to heights that she could not possibly imagine! My life had been purely adventure and travel, brought on by the sheer, torturing monotony of my infancy. I was always running from my past, from myself, and neither would ever catch up with me...

I plunged my head beneath the surface of the warm, clear blue water after tossing away the cloth tied about my face. Once I was completely clean and the odour of rot was gone, I left the water, running my fingers through my hair to wring the moisture from it. Looking up at the sun, I decided that I would dry quite quickly, as it promised to be a hot day. With an involuntary smile of contentment twisting my thin lips, I stretched langorously like a cat as I contemplated my new state of freedom. Now that I had escaped, all I would need to do would be to leave this place far behind and journey towards a new town, where my notoriety was not known...

* * *

The entire day I spent on foot, continuously walking, never halting my pace as I trudged beneath the hot sun, keeping to the cliffsides as much as I could to avoid being sighted. My face was covered by a long piece of the funeral shroud - thoroughly washed in the sea - which was wrapped about my head to serve both as protection from the blistering sunlight and concealment from those whom I could chance to meet. I imagined that I looked distinctly Middle-Eastern with my face swathed in dark cloth that only revealed my eyes. But for my starkly pale skin, I could easily have passed as a desert-dweller...

As my bare feet carried me across the sand and further and further from the village I could no longer call my place of residence, I remembered the sand dunes I had travelled up only a few years ago...I recalled the searing heat of the sand beneath me, the coolness of the grains below the surface, the stinging bite of airborne sand against exposed skin and the frustration of slipping backwards with every step uphill...

But here, I was on flat ground, with the sea to my right. When I reached a hill, the sand gave way to grass, and then rocky earth. Ignoring the stones that pricked the soles of my feet, I made my way away from the beach.

My sharp yellow eyes assessed the landscape before me: dry, with short grass, rocks, and many trees. Good...I would not be lacking a place to hide if discretion on my part was necessary.

I marched at a quicker pace that I could easily keep up for hours on end, which would help me to cover as much distance as possible. I only lamented the lack of a good horse to take me even faster away from this heathen area...

North, I decided I would travel. North from here, following the coastline, which should take me to a larger and more civilised town. The benefit of a larger town was that I could easily lose myself, and I would not have much to fear. Haiphong, the town was called, by what I had distantly heard about it...

I reached the top of a small hill, and faced the terrain before me. A great wasteland of countryside lay before me, its greenery, undisturbed by the presence of houses, only disrupted by the ebb and swell of rolling hills. Perfect. In this thick expanse of trees and shrubbery I could make my way completely unseen, invisible among the deep shadows cast by the clustered trunks. I would stay clear of the yellow-brown dirt paths, in this way eschewing any traveller happening to be making his way along them.

Invigorated by the rising breeze, I descended the hill I had been stood upon the crest of, making my way into the shrubbery. The plants grew green and tall here, nourished by the humid air that lay heavy across the land. This humidity now clung closely to my pallid skin, forming tiny droplets of moisture in my hair as I left the higher, cooler level of land. It was more or less pleasantly warm, especially after the chill of the previous night. Nevertheless, I took care to stay under the shady protection of the trees and away from the sun's penetrating glare. Sunlight never did anything to bronze my deathly pale skin to a more natural hue; it merely scorched me, mercilessly burning my sensitive epiderm to a painful red. On top of all that, I peeled like a woman. Hence the reason I always preferred to be cautious around strong sunlight...

As I walked, I turned my hidden face up to the sky. Between the leaves of the east-Asian trees, I glimpsed the treacherous light of the sun. The intense humidity dulled the fiery star's contours, making it appear hazy and larger than it really was. I continued regardless along my way, wading through shin-high grass that dampened my legs up to the knees. In no time at all I began to vehemently curse the moisture of this place - the infernal moisture that dripped steadily from the large green leaves and condensed upon my skin. It was becoming uncomfortable to even breathe, and the air felt unpleasantly stuffy. Normally none of this would be a cause of complaint for me, but I had been weakened greatly from my fall the previous night, and from my brief but hellish stay in the well of corpses. Although I had managed to clean my injury a little in the sea, the side of my face still stung, making me feel dull and light-headed. I struggled on through the shrubbery, the chirps and hisses of insects and other small creatures a painful, sharp, continous cacophany in my ears. Mosquitoes whined about my head, no matter how much I waved my arms or slapped them out of the air. I kept my pace with difficulty, but still I concentrated on merely putting one foot in front of the other, trying to ignore the humid, sweltering heaviness of the air. Soon it got too much for me and I ripped at the buttons of my already-torn shirt, pulling it open in an attempt to cool myself down at least slightly. The hot, damp stillness stuck to my bare chest, where miniscule droplets began to form in the uneven scar tissue. I could have sworn I even felt the moisture welling in between the protuding bones of my ribs, something that drove me mad with discomfort. I tried to wipe the droplets away irritably, longing for dryer air...or even just a small breeze! Oh, for the tiniest zephyr of a breeze...! Onwards I trudged, wishing I was still a young man. Of course, I did not actually know my own exact age, but I deduced myself to be somewhere in my thirties...I could sense already that the peak of my life was soon going to pass, and that my youthful vigour would go with it. If I had still been in my early twenties, I would have been in better form after that fall I took...

But it was no use dwelling on idle things like that. I needed to concentrate on the _here_ and _now_. Unfortunately, neither seemed to be very pleasant for me.

It was at least three hours later that I collapsed into a motionless heap on the ground, eyes rolling back and mind dissolving into a sweat-soaked, sweltering state of unconsciousness...

* * *

A light shone before my closed eyelids. It was a bright light, that moved. Distantly, I could hear voices, gibbering in a foreign language of which only some words I could understand in my current state of mind. One of those words I could distinguish was the word "dead".

Who was dead? Was _I_ dead? I couldn't open my eyes. My whole body felt heavy and limp with exhaustion, my skin clammy and cold from the forest's humidity. I could not move a muscle.

Presently I felt a tough hand gently tugging at the fabric covering my face. Age-old instincts stirred in me, the familiar, dreadful feeling of somebody uncovering my face causing an electric jolt to run through my entire body, making me bring up my hands to firmly grab at the fabric tied around my head.

'_Non_!' I cried indistinctly. '_Je vous en supplie_...I beg you, no!'

My eyes finally opened in that rush of adrenalin, and I found my surroundings to be completely dark. Above me was the night sky, and I was lying sprawled on my back in the thick, damp grass. Pale yellow lamplight illuminated my long, limp, stick-thin legs curled in the grass, and shone upon my bare, scarred chest which looked so pale and emaciated it even made _me_ nauseous. My open shirt was in tatters, my trousers fraying about my knees.

I heard cries of surprise and terror beside me, presumably from the bearers of the lamplight who had thought they had just discovered a fresh corpse lying in the grass. Their horrified, rapid discourse clearly indicated their shock at seeing the aforementioned corpse come jerkily to life and cry out. Soon a face appeared in my line of vision. It looked rather worried, and faintly sick. I had no strength to run away, though...I had no power to even hide myself. I found that I was too tired to care about whether I would be recognised as Thày Phù Thuy or not. My head was still spinning, and all I could do was murmur deliriously in the language I had only just begun to learn: '_Tôi bi lac...tôi bi lac..._I'm lost...'.

There was a whispered debate beside me following this, but it seemed that the people who had found me were willing to help even a lost man who already looked dead. Either that, or they had just heaved me upright to dispose of me somewhere...

Fortunately for me, though, I saw through sweat-blurred eyes that I was being carried over to a small, wooden shack from which there hung small paper lanterns around the door. Hopefully they would let me regain my strength and direct me to the nearest path that led to Haiphong...

Feeling rather relieved, I let myself sink back into unconsciousness.

* * *

My eyes blearily opened, and I found myself staring hazily at a rough wooden ceiling above me. Where was I? Was I back at the house in the tiny village? Did this mean the terrible events I had endured - the well of the dead, the hellish sojourn through dank, sweltering forest - were all part of a simple but worryingly vivid dream?

Unfamiliar smells and the feeling of the musty cloth wrapped about my head told me immediately that they were not. I was in a different house - a small shack, where I lay upon the floor, covered by a few blankets while my head was cushioned by a folded sheet. Daylight filled the room, and outside the windows (or rather, the square holes in the walls sparsely covered by cloth) I caught glimpses of the greenery shimmering with moisture. I glanced about the room, my inner architect making notes upon the solid structure of the house and the surprisingly precise walls. I found myself detachedly longing for a small weight tied to a string so that I could measure whether the roughly-cut walls truly were at exact right-angles from the floor...

From behind a woven partition there appeared a small, short man, whose weather-beaten face spoke volumes about his aptitude for survival in the forest. The wisdom ingrained within the lines upon his skin did nothing for his physical attractiveness, but his was the face of a man who had known little luxury but that of the simple happiness of thriving successfully in his own home and knowing the ways of the wilderness. His wrinkled, imperfect features automatically made me fractionally less tense, even though I could see the open wariness in his expression. He must have been around my own age, despite the lines on his face, and knew what was potentially dangerous from the fruits of experience. I was glad that the fabric concealing most of my hideous features was still in place around my head; presumably those who had found me knew it upset me if they attempted to remove it.

The indigenous Annamite man shuffled forwards and knelt at a respectable distance from where I lay, visibly disconcerted by my yellow-eyed gaze and stick-like limbs. I couldn't help but notice the discreet talismans hanging above my patch of floor, put there to ward off any evil I might have brought in with me, and to protect the inhabitants of the house if I - the nameless, sickeningly emaciated bone-white man found in the forest - turned out to be a demon or evil spirit of some description. I seem to arouse superstition quite naturally...

'_Chào buôi s__áng_,' the man intoned quietly, giving a polite, short bow of the head. From my ponderously growing connaissances of the Vietnamese language, I recognised this to be the common greeting that was more or less the equivalent of "good morning".

I bobbed my head a little in return, then winced as I discovered too late that I was suffering from a rather stiff neck.

My host regarded me curiously. '_Ban co noi tiêng Viêt không_?' he enquired slowly and clearly.

_Aha, I think I understand you_, I thought. He apparently wished to know whether I spoke his language, for although he could not judge my nationality or ethnicity by my face - not that uncovering it would have made the task any easier - he could still see from the extreme paleness of my skin that I had most certainly not spent my life being baked steadily under the humid Asian sun.

'_Chi môt chùt_,' I replied hesitantly. 'Just a little.'

He seemed satisfied with my answer, having now pinned me as a foreigner whom he could converse with to some extent. He immediately asked: '_Ban tên gi_?'

'Er...Erik,' I told him.

'El-_ee_k?'

'Erik,' I corrected him, trying less than successfully to erase the traces of my French accent. My esteemed host appeared to mull it over, then decided to accept that my identity was "Erik".

'_Ban tù dâu dên_?' he asked, changing tactics and deciding he wished to know where I was from.

'Oh, dear...er..._tôi không biêt_,' I answered, not knowing how to explain that I had no nationality and rejected my origins. I had satisfied myself with a simple "I don't know".

The man was baffled to hear that I did not know where I was from, but appeared to put it down to my being just an eccentric foreigner.

'_Tên...tiêng Viêt cua tôi...xâu_,' I informed him brokenly. 'My Vietnamese is rather bad.' I hoped this would excuse any linguistic blunders I made.

He chuckled at this.

'_Tôi co thê giùp ban diêu gi_?' he asked me slowly and clearly, wishing to know whether I had any requirements. This reminded me that I still needed to press onwards and leave this infernal forest for the sanctuary of a slightly more urbanised area. The sooner the better, I decided, so I got down to business:

'_Tôi dang tim Haiphong_,' I replied. 'I am looking for Haiphong.'

'Aiphongue?'

I realised I must have been "h"-dropping again, like the Frenchman I had so vehemently denied I was. 'Sorry, _Haiphong_.'

'Haiphong!'

My host appeared uncomfortable, and seemed at a loss about how to explain to me what worried him. Instead he tried to put it simply: 'Haiphong..._xâu_, _ông Eleek_.'

"Haiphong bad, Mr Erik?" This perplexed me almost as much as the politeness he showed me. I managed to communicate to him my confusion, and he tried valiantly to explain. In the end he began to resort to primitive miming that only served to bemuse me even further. Finally he got up and left me. At first I assumed he had come to the conclusion that I would never understand, when he returned several moments later clutching a creased, stained and crumpled piece of grey paper that had apparently been put to some practical use but had been temporarily removed to explain a point to me. He handed the piece of paper over to me, signalling that I should open it. I obliged him, and looked upon it in surprise.

I was holding an old, torn piece of newspaper, which was so crumpled and faded it was barely recognisable. But the intriguing thing was that this newspaper was written in _French_ - my own first language! It had been a long, long while since I had held a piece of reading material I could read with such ease, and I feasted my eyes upon the words that were so painful but so familiar. To my surprise, I saw that the newspaper had been printed here, in Tonkin...but why was a French newspaper being printed _here_, of all places? The columns of news before me spoke of goings-on in this very country, I noticed...and yet I knew that Vietnam must be printing French newspapers for a specific reason. Further scanning of the news columns told me everything I needed to know. The natal country I had run away from and had not ventured near since my not-so-tender childhood, had expanded its rule overseas and colonised Vietnam itself! I had been in this country for almost an entire fortnight, yet I had never had any idea that it was under French control!

My host was warning me against Haiphong because he knew it to be a town where some of the French would be. He was obviously used to the old, free life, and found the more modern, Western colonial men frightening.

I burned to go there and see it all for myself.

'Where? _O dâu_? _O dâu Haiphong_?' I demanded, feeling fortunate that the poorly-educated man was not familiar enough with European accents to realise my own words had been laced with French characteristics. 'That direction? There? There? Or there?' I proceeded to point in all four directions of the compass. He seemed to understand, and pointed somewhere vaguely north-west to where I sat.

'Show me the way!' I commanded, voice full of irresistible power. My specific tone told him exactly what I meant, even if he did not understand. Helpless to resist the strength of my words, my meek host showed me hurriedly out of the shack, taking me through a partition where several more family members sat, and then out of the open doorway, the family's cries of shock still ringing in my ears. The poor man, who was perspiring slightly, said something incomprehensible and pointed to the left. A dirt track was just visible through the trees near his house, and he meant to tell me that that track would lead me to Haiphong.

'_Càm on_,' I thanked him curtly, and strode away vigorously, as if the weakness and fainting of the previous day had never happened. I was on my way again, and soon I was sure I would discover what the state of affairs were in this town of Haiphong...


	3. Chapter 3: Passage Through Haiphong

_**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews, HD! (One works with the audience one has...:) and I suppose I never really expected many readers for this Kay-y, relatively fluffless fic, so it doesn't really matter) W__e get to see some pirates in this chapter :D. And a few more dead people._

* * *

'Name?'

My yellow eyes flickered fleetingly to one side as I quickly thought of a passable name.

'Erik...Erik Fléau-Delafrance.'

The uniformed gentleman looked up at me briefly, eyebrows raised. For one moment, I thought he was not going to accept my wry, freshly-invented surname - or worse still, make me remove the fabric still wrapped around my face - but as I kept my gaze neutral and calm, the moment passed and he scribbled the name down onto his piece of paper.

'Very well, monsieur. You may pass.'

I entered the town feeling a powerful sense of relief. I had not envisioned there being men stationed around the perimeters of Haiphong, writing down the names of who entered and who left -

'Oh, wait just a moment, monsieur!'

The relief vanished instantly, and I turned around.

'Yes?'

The French officer squinted at me. 'Do you happen to be from Metropolitan France?'

I decided to keep affairs simple by telling the truth for once. 'I am indeed.'

'_Vous avez des papiers d'identification_?' he asked.

Identification papers? The very idea! I never had any such thing in my life! Damn him, I had just wanted to look around the town, not go through lengthy formalities like this...

'Listen, _monsieur l'officier_...I recently got into a spot of trouble in a small town south of here, as I was unwillingly taken away from my former dwelling by some Annamite locals,' I explained, layering my voice and pitching it at exactly the right tone to subconsciously stimulate compassion in the unsuspecting officer's mind. 'I managed to escape with nothing but the clothes on my back and a small fraction of my savings.' I indicated the cloth bag still attached to my belt, which, unknown to the officer, was actually full of rare jewels rather than coins. The irresistible lull of my voice had taken its full, desired effect upon the man, and he nodded in understanding.

'Heathens, the lot of them,' agreed the officer gruffly. 'But I would still like you to uncover your face for a moment, if that would be possible -'

Stinging flashes of panic seared me, but I smothered them, instead keeping my mind cool and calm. Then, in a voice positively saturated with subtle hypnotic tones, I told him while staring directly into his eyes: 'It is unnecessary. I pose no threat to anyone here. Making me show my face would only lead to...complications. I was attacked, monsieur, and the wounds on my face must be covered, you see! You do not need to look for yourself.'

The officer blinked as if emerging from a dream; I could see in his eyes that he was completely dazzled by the soft beauty of my voice. 'Yes...yes, you're perfectly right,' he agreed vaguely, still under my influence. 'It is unnecessary. You may go on your way, monsieur. _Bonne journée_.'

'Good day to you too, officer,' I replied courteously, a dark, sinister smile of triumph curling my hidden lips as I turned and proceeded into the town of Haiphong.

* * *

Haiphong was the main commercial port of Tonkin, about thirty-two kilometers from the sea, as I found out, and was positioned at the convergence of the Song-Tom-Bac river, the Bonnal canal and the Cua-Cam branch of the Red River delta. Commerce was rich here; trading ships came up the rivers from the Gulf sea to bring their goods to this prosperring town. I myself found it refreshingly different from the clusters of Annamite houses I had seen in the smaller villages southwards from here; the French had already accomplished a lot of work on the town. Why, but for the intense heat, I could almost believe myself to be in any western-European town! As I sinuously slunk invisible and unnoticed through the shadows, I greedily feasted my eyes upon the magnificent colonial architecture that intermingled with the more traditional, tall Annamite houses. Freshly planted trees provided shade along the streets and boulevards, giving some respite from the burning sun. Everywhere I looked, I could see people, too...mostly I noticed Annamites, stationed at their stalls and shop-fronts, or carrying goods along the streets, their characteristic conical hats tied upon their heads to shelter them from the sun. I also noticed some Chinese walking about here and there, and - standing out most conspicuously from the Asian population - some Frenchmen, wearing their khaki, colonial uniforms and their typical bell-shaped helmets, most of them also sporting the fashionable moustache beneath it. I regarded these men with vague interest as here and there Annamites trundled them around in two-wheeled, cart-like contraptions that they pulled behind them. I watched a uniformed officer with his luxuriant moustache ride past in one, pulled along by a barefoot Annamite who was looking rather sour. It was well and truly obvious who held the reins here...

Although I would have liked to stay and peruse the buildings a little more, by and by I became aware of my shredded, threadbare garments attracting stares as I walked along. I decided that I may as well find something decent to wear while I was here...

* * *

A few hours later, I was in the Rue de la République (ah! how wonderful to hear such familiar-sounding street names!), making my way to the docks. I had seen many brand-new colonial houses in these streets, with exquisite masonry and characteristic green-painted shutters and doors. As architecture was a fond passion of mine, I had taken mental note of every single facet of those buildings, contrasting them with the local tube-houses. The original houses and shop-fronts of Haiphong, I noticed, were always very narrow, but very long out the back. I had seen this sort of crafty building technique in Russia; the owners of the houses and shops were taxed by the width of frontage on the street, so they merely moved all their required living space to the back. In Russia the people had built their upper floors overhanging the street slightly, because they were only taxed by the size of the floor that actually touched the ground. It was always interesting to see how people used the art of architecture to dodge heavier taxes...

I walked on under the shade of the trees, melting in with the crowd now. I had discarded my torn, well-soiled clothing, and had purchased instead a nondescript, long tunic worn by most Annamites I had seen. Some of the gems I had carried all the way over here had been traded for a vast amount of coins - a slightly _vaster_ amount of coins, in fact, than those gems were really worth, for I really do pride myself for my skills of negotiation. I had hidden the gems and coins away deep inside the dull, drab folds of the tunic, padding the pouch and drawing it tightly shut so that the wealth inside would not make a merry jingle to attract any ill-wisher's attention. I did not particularly want to go through the bother of discreetly killing a thief, for I had better things to do at the moment...

I kept on going, head mostly down out of habit. I was wearing a shady, Annamite hat to complete my wardrobe; what was even better was that it had a large square of fabric with two corners attached to either side of the brim, and this square of fabric I had tied firmly to hide my face. Only my yellow eyes and my pale, blue-veined forehead showed above the material, but these were kept concealed anyway by the hat's brim. With this disguise, nobody saw me as different, and nobody even looked at me twice.

While at first I jubilated at this fact, I gradually began to feel uneasy. With nothing to put them on edge, the people came uncomfortably near to me, even brushing past me like anyone on the street! My hands began to feel clammy. Crowds always made me feel tense and ill at ease; I had had many bad experiences with them. There were people everywhere, and so near, too! Far too close for comfort...my breathing was uneven, as my eyes darted from side to side, and suddenly the thin cloth over my face didn't feel so light and free anymore. It became heavy and stifling, clinging closely to my perspiring skin. Wild panic began to flash through me as the awful, nasty crowd seemed to close around me, making me flinch every time a person brushed against me. What if one of them saw how curiously flat the fabric covering my face was in front, as if there was no nose there to create a ridge in it? What if they caught sight of my yellow eyes - my bony frame - my deathly skin - my cadaverous complexion? They would all turn on me as one, as they had to the poor, sad little _Mort Vivant_...they would all cry out, gasp, swear in shock and horror and disgust! They would lock me in a cage again! They would gawp at me behind bars! They would throw me underground with the dead again! _They would destroy me,_ _from the inside outwards_!

I could not take any more! I began to run, ploughing my way through the crowd, desperate for solitude, safety...

I ran, I ran - I did not stop! Hands grabbed at me, people cried out in protest, but still I ran! I ran until I was far, far from them, far from the horrible crowd that brought back such frightful memories. Poor Erik...he had just come into the world and was already enduring what _le Mort Vivant_, _Siyah Hayalet_ and _Beliya Prizrak_ had, all together! Poor Erik, I thought, sinking against the wall of an alleyway and sliding to the floor where I sat panting. Oh, Erik hates crowds just as much as those before him did...

Gradually the phobic hysteria began to fade, my heart slowing to a more steady, even pace. As the frantic terror waned, it was replaced by dark bitterness. No, _not_ poor Erik - _foolish_ Erik, more like! Foolish to think he could walk through a crowd without being attacked by ghosts of the past! No, no - foolish to even _be_ terrified! I scorned him. He was not the little defenceless child of long ago - he was not the Living Corpse who was held helpless behind bars all day to be stared at! He was a _man_, with all the murderous skills of the Silent Viper of India, with all the power of the Persian Angel of Doom! He knew how to kill people with as much ease as breathing, so he had nothing to fear! Simple mortals should never cause him such irrational fear - that was a weak, human thing! No, what he needed to guard himself against was his own mind, really...but self-control was always such a speciality of his...

_I_ was Erik, and a skilful, powerful man like Erik needed a weapon of some sort. Maybe I would find one in a different place? I walked along the alleyway to the opening on the other side, irritably ducking under low washing-lines that dangled across the alley. What a chore, to be so tall, sometimes -

I froze in the act of lifting one so I could pass under. I moved my hand and felt it again. Yes...a distinct slip of thin wire, so familiar beneath my fingers...

Impatiently, I pushed the clothes from the line onto the ground. A metallic gleam met my golden gaze. Ah! _yes_! Just as I had surmised! The line was wire - wire of ideal thinness! I ripped it from the walls, the clothes upon it falling upon the floor in a disordered heap. I closed my eyes and ran my hands along the length of the wire, a dark smile curling the corners of my mouth as I felt the familiar, powerful feeling of metal slipping smoothly against my palms. Within seconds the knot was tied, the supple wire's length adjusted, and I had myself a lasso of the Punjab type coiled and ready in my hands. It was only a makeshift one, of a different sort of material, but it still had the potential to serve me well. I hid the new Punjab wire up my left sleeve, where it would wait until it was needed...

I smiled in the darkness of the alleyway. Erik felt very sure of himself now, very sure indeed...

* * *

I stalked the length of the quay silently, pale hands tucked away in the pockets of my tunic, eyes occasionally peering out from beneath the brim of my hat to look at the vessels tied to the thick mooring-posts. As I passed the large warehouses, I found myself gawping up at the larger ships that were anchored beside the port. I had quite forgotten how huge these things could be...

Smaller vessels were moored nearby, some being relieved of their goods by serious-looking workmen, and others being loaded with spices and other crates full of items for trade. I observed one of them in particular quite closely; it appeared to be a Chinese junk, which had come in from the sea, and was probably going to be on its way to Yunan with a fresh cargo of silks and other goods.

Melting into the shadows, I leant against a wall with my bony arms crossed, perusing the junk as it was being loaded. _Yunan_...I thought. I had only fleetingly passed through China once, and unless I was mistaken, Yunan was a Chinese town that could be reached by travelling up the Red River that ran straight through Tonkin. By what I could judge, the Red River was a lucrative trade route through the entire country, and I was beginning to contemplate a boat-ride all the way up the river to China...

* * *

A few short hours later, I was on that very junk, watching riverside houses go by as I thought about how ridiculously easy it had been to gain passage on this vessel. A man should have more control over his own mind, surely! It had only taken a small amount of persuasion with the powerful, influential tones of my voice to get the junk's captain to accept me as an impromptu passenger. Of course, I knew very well that the sheer strength of my willpower and the bewitching vibrance of the voice I used were infallible means of getting me what I desired, but sometimes it was downright disappointing how easily some people let themselves be conquered without facing me with even a slight challenge to make things more fun...

The junk had taken quite some time to get ready for its journey, but now I was well and truly on my way upriver, watching the more urbanised areas give way to sweeping, marshy rice paddies. Soon we were in the middle of the vast plains, far from the sight of Haiphong. The green-brown water lapped at the junk as it slowly made its way upstream.

I perched myself on the edge of the very back of the junk, where I was obscured from view by the crates of goods behind me, and I could see the rolling expanses of marshland in all their splendour. The sun was beginning to set in a watery manner, hazy through the mists that drifted over the Cua-Cam delta. It was curiously peaceful, to be drifting over the water in this bamboo contraption among the high reeds and completely deserted marshland...

I could see a large white bird somewhere in the distance, stalking through the inundated fields upon long legs. I regarded it for a moment or two, then slapped irritably at my arm - mosquitoes also seemed to find this a beautiful place to be. It was a wonder how they would still bite me, bloodless and dead though I appeared to be...

A quick exploration beneath the fabric covering my face led me to conclude that my wound was beginning to heal quite adequately; a small blessing. I swung my legs gently over the rippling water down below, revelling in the soft breeze and beginning to contemplate what I would do once in China. I very much liked the idea of taking a look at their quaint architecture there, and seeing if the wilderness of the mountains there could take me far enough away from the memories of the past for me to feel finally free...even now, I relished the feeling of sitting undisturbed upon this junk as it floated through the middle of nowhere. My only company was the captain of the junk, and a couple of his assistants, but they did not bother me, nor care much about my presence. They were simple beings, I had discovered, and the charm of my voice had put their uncomplicated minds at rest. I felt the first tiny flicker of freedom deep within the dark recesses of my sorry heart; there was nobody here to bother me - no tyrannical, cowardly, mistrustful Sultan to bother me with inventions for his own protection, no sadistic, wicked little khanum to press me for new methods of torture and execution, no meddlesome Daroga to suspiciously scrutinize my every move and try to stir my long-dead conscience -

A slight commotion at the front of the junk alerted my attention. What were the fools gibbering about now? I assumed one of the assistants had dropped something overboard, but when I came out from behind the crates, they were not looking over the side of the boat. Instead they were staring straight ahead, pointing and gesticulating wildly in obvious distress.

'What is it?' I asked them in their native language. They looked shocked to see me, as if they had completely forgotten my presence, but quickly their panic took over them again and they gabbled frantically:

'_Nhin kia! O do! Tàu cuop biên! Tàu cuop biên!_'

Given that I only had a loose understanding of the language, I had no idea what in the world they were talking about. They pointed wildly upriver, then began wringing their hands and tearing at their hair, sending up oaths to the heavens. I frowned over the junk's bow, and saw what it was that had gotten them into such a state. Up ahead, another vessel was making its way downriver, heading straight for us. Judging by the crew's reaction, this was most definitely not just another trading junk. There was something bad about this vessel.

I gritted my teeth. We were in definite danger; the malignant, bamboo junk was approaching with all speed, and the humble craft we were aboard was weighed down with goods and certainly not built for speed. We could not change course and flee, and the second boat was approaching fast. The captain and his loading assistants were weeping now; their shameful fear made me sick. Well, we would soon see whether the crew of the approaching junk were anything of a match for the Silent Viper of India, the Persian Angel of Doom, or the terrible Thày Phù Thuy! My hastily-made Punjab snare nestled comfortingly up my left sleeve, I slipped like a shadow behind the crates of merchandise as the second vessel finally drew level with ours.

A split second later, a wiry, dirty-faced young man wielding a knife leapt the gap between the two vessels, and was soon joined by four other equally unpleasant-looking companions, who boarded the junk with just as much agility. The two junks were quickly secured together to prevent them drifting apart, and the five men who had boarded went straight for the captain and his assistants.

The three hapless, unarmed traders fell to their knees and grovelled most pathetically, ingratiating themselves with no shred of honour at all. One of our "guests", a bony man wearing baggy, knee-length trousers and a brown tunic beneath a drab, soft coat with the collar turned up, gave the traders a look of contempt and shouted an order to the rest of his companions. There was a flash of metal, and within the space of a few seconds, the captain of the Chinese junk and his assistants were lying crumpled and lifeless on the deck, limbs twitching occasionally as a pool of scarlet blood spread steadily from them.

My eyes widened as I suddenly realised.

'_Des pirates_,' I whispered silently. Pirates!

Leaving the bodies without a second glance - what clean, unfeeling murder it had been! - the leader of the group of pirates issued another order, and the others began to break open crates to investigate the goods, then bring them over to their own junk. So, they were thieves as well as murderers, then! I had dealt with such types before, many, many times...

My yellow eyes fixed upon a scrawny man coming my way, obviously interested in the contents of the crate I happened to be hiding behind. Two more steps and he would be able to see me...it was better to conserve the element of surprise while I still had it. I would surely be able to take on all five pirates, and steer this junk onwards myself to Yunan; I was almost twice the height of these short Annamites, and would be able to dispatch them with ease. After all, I had killed men larger and stronger than myself on several occasions, and their numbers would count as nothing faced with my terrible skill...

I crouched low in the darkness behind the crate as the man drew nearer, watching him like a viper ready to strike. One step...two steps -

I sprang from my hiding place, the wire sliding from my sleeve and into its familiar place in the hollow of my left palm - the palm that bore a long, thin white scar from where the Punjab wire always cut into it whenever I pulled it taut. In a smooth, seamless movement I had practiced so often it was now instinctive, I widened the loop, threw it over the man's head, and swiftly snapped his neck before he could even make a sound. The body fell to the floor with a thump, its face still frozen in an expression of dumb surprise. Alerted by the sound, the other pirates immediately turned and saw me there - a toweringly tall, skeletal figure wearing a dark tunic and a wide hat that hid his face entirely, standing over the body of their recently-fallen crewmate. Before they could react, I came at them in one quick lunge.

Taking on four men at a time would be a refreshing challenge, and I was confident that I would be able to open, throw, close, and loosen the wire quick enough to deal with each of them, one after the other. If they stood close enough together, I might even be able to incapacitate two at once...

My right hand tugged open the loop, and then in a flash I had reajusted my left, throwing hand, before throwing the thin wire at the nearest man -

One thing I had unfortunately forgotten was that my Punjab snare was made from a piece of wire that had served as something to hang washing on for about ten years. With the supple catgut snares I was used to, the knot needed a fractionally harder tug to get the loop to widen sufficiently, whereas with this thicker line, the knot was weaker, thus causing the loop to widen a shade too much. This was enough to cause the wire to trap the man's shoulders instead of his neck, and the split second in which I faltered then tried to slide it up to his throat was long enough for the other pirates to close in around me and press the points of their daggers into my flesh.

'Release him!' commanded the leader in the Annamite tongue, poking me with the sharp blade to emphasise his point. I bared my teeth beneath the fabric covering my face, cursing myself bitterly. How could I be victim of such stupid, painfully human error? I, who fancied myself above all possible mistakes! My left hand, still gripping the traitorous wire, trembled. I noticed blood around my knuckles where the paper-thin skin had been split by the bone. This happened frequently, but the sight of my own blood - proof of my despicable weakness - and the feeling of the cage of daggers around me was almost enough to make me scream in frustration. Instead, though, I accepted that I was in a precarious position and dropped my end of the useless Punjab lasso, now entirely unarmed. My would-be victim struggled out of the wire, throwing it to the ground - something which had not happened in many, many years. I glared down at the pirates, detesting my state of weakness. To my further humiliation, my arms were wrenched back and my wrists quickly tied together. I wondered why the hell they had not slit my sorry throat yet...what could they be waiting for? They had lowered their blades, and, to my horror, the leader gave the order to take me over to their junk. I kicked and struggled, but the men were surprisingly strong, and did not hesitate to clout me half-senseless in order to bring me aboard their own vessel. I fought off the waves of unconsciousness, and gave my captors a burning look of loathing. The leader stared at me with a steely glint in his eye.

'I don't like the way he looks at me, and he should be slaughtered for what he did to Ly Cam, but there is something in his skill that has captured my awe...' he told the others. 'He appears to have great experience, and it would be something of a waste to end him like we ended the traders of the goods vessel. He would be a valuable asset to us aboard the _Vinh Quyen_, especially since the scum of the West is coming to deface our beloved country!'

'But Ngai, how are we to know that this wire-throwing murderer is not one of them?' another pirate interjected. He raised my bound arms roughly and pushed back the sleeve of my tunic, revealing my glaringly grey-white, unhealthy skin. 'Look, he is certainly pale enough!' The leader frowned, then looked at me calculatingly, before reaching out quickly and pulling the hat from my head, taking the concealing square of fabric with it and revealing my face in all of its loathsome glory. Several of the pirates actually cried out in horror and disgust, while those with more self-restraint looked severely ill. They spat contemptuously on the floor, as if my hideous looks were a curse. Ah, how observant!

I stood tall and straight, expression stony, eyes smouldering as I watched their appalled stares. Was it possible that a mere hour ago I had been revelling in unseen tranquility? The leader, Ngai, was the first to move, stepping forwards slowly, eyes still fixed on my horrendous features, mouth silently shaping a swearword.

I stared down at him with contempt, then Ngai glanced at the others.

'Have we stumbled upon a demon?' he asked softly, still appalled. 'Or is this creature indeed human? Let us find out for sure!'

Before I knew it, restraining arms were wrapped around me to hold me still, and three of the pirates - including Ngai himself - began to tear at my tunic. I cried out in alarm, struggling as they tugged at the thin fabric impatiently.

'_Mais - que faites vous_?' I choked out, unconsciously reverting to French as I demanded what they were doing. 'Let go of me, you mindless heathens!' My protestations fell on deaf ears; the pirates seemed to have a sole purpose that was so important that they didn't even notice the language I had used. Soon I was bare to the waist, my tunic in torn tatters about my bony shoulders. The three pirates seemed to have found what they were looking for.

Ngai prodded at my exposed navel with obvious surprise. He looked up at his fellow pirates. 'He has the face of a demon, yet he is born of a woman!' he declared. 'The evidence is here!'

The other men murmured in interest, taking a look at my oldest of scars themselves. I scowled in discomfort. The officer at Haiphong had been right: heathens, the lot of them.

The pirates began to look at me now with some kind of horrified awe and reverence. Superstitious like any other group of Annamites, they apparently were under the conviction that the face was the mirror of the soul; so, seeing as my face was the definition of hideousness, they came to the conclusion that my soul was blacker than any other man's could ever be, and I had committed such atrocities that my face plainly showed I was the embodiment of pure evil. But rather than killing me, they seemed to find that I would be useful to them in future.

Ngai addressed me for the first time.

'_Ban tên gi_?' he asked, wanting to know, just as the Annamite forest-dweller had, who I was.

I raised my head slowly, and fixed him with a burning, golden gaze.

'_Thày Phù Thuy_,' I replied.


	4. Chapter 4: Dinner on Board

_**A/N:**__Oh dear, Erik got let down by a piece of washing line. :D_

_Thanks for the reviews, Chantal (wow! I didn't know you were Vietnamese...:) Tell me if I go too wrong with the dialogue, I'm actually getting it all from one of those online "useful phrases" documents...heehee. And you know you like that part in chapter 2 really :D) and BleedingHeartConservative (I'm so glad you like it!)._

_Here is Chapter 4..._

**

* * *

**

'_Ah!_'

The heavy cloth hit me squarely in the face, thrown by one of the half-drunken louts at the table. I had been granted access into the main, draughty cabin of the _Vinh Quyen_, but at a price: I was forced to endure the antics of this sorry lot.

Not only that, but my wrists were bound in front of me, and were also attached by a short length of rope to the bamboo wall. This length of rope was craftily cut; it was just short enough to prevent me from standing up straight. I was thus presented with two alternatives: either to stoop painfully for the entire night or to kneel broodingly, as they wanted me to, upon the ground. After the first ten minutes of stooping painfully, though, I had acquiesced in spite of myself and gone for the latter option.

It seemed, amazingly, that the sight of my perfectly hideous face did not put the group of pirates off their dinner. In fact, they spent a great part of their meal staring in avid awe at me as I glowered on my knees in the shadowed corner. Tonight I was their favourite subject of discussion , it seemed. I had not cared in the slightest, really, until that young oaf threw a cloth at me.

'Cover it up!' he shouted happily, the alcohol he had recently imbibed making him a little too loud. 'Your face makes me gag!'

I made no move to retrieve the cloth; I simply crouched there and fixed him with an intense, crippling gaze, silently formulating a suitable demise for him in my mind - a childish game, really, but most satisfying. The smouldering rage in my yellow eyes that caught the lantern-light seemed to be enough to disconcert him, though. His laugh became a little hesitant, and it took a great effort to tear his nervous eyes from me. Then another pirate put forth: 'I wonder if our Thày Phù Thuy hungers? Do you suppose he eats?'

At the mention of food, it dawned upon me that it had been days since my last meal. Suddenly feeling rather ravenous, I grumbled: '_Tôi doi._ I'm hungry.'

'Give him the leftovers,' suggested one offhandedly.

'It's going to take more than leftovers to fatten _him_ up,' remarked another, gesturing inelegantly at my emaciated chest, still exposed through the tatters of my tunic.

'How much do you suppose he eats?'

'Perhaps he feasts on human flesh.'

'Indeed...'

'But for now, he will have to be satisfied by steamed rice with _nuoc mam_,' said the first pirate decisively. The others nodded gravely in agreement, then a small bowl was prepared and placed before me. I stared down at the rice, not saying a word, until some bright spark understood the reason for my pointed silence and fetched me two pointed sticks of well-polished bamboo, which he set down in front of me before backing away. The men all watched me expectantly.

Now that I had something to eat with - never would I eat with my fingers, my mother had so often told me how ill-mannered it was - I reached down with my bound hands and picked up the bowl. After a lot of painful wrist-bending, I managed to pick up the sticks with my other hand, still balancing the bowl in the first. The pirates stared avidly at this small, dexterous balancing act, too dim-witted to take the hint and loosen my bonds. Had they expected me to crouch forwards and eat straight from the bowl like an animal?

I had watched them eating, and I was confident I could mimic the way they used the sticks. Gripping them in my left, dominant hand, I sank the points into the rice and attempted to lift out a small morsel. Unfortunately, the rice was of a gluey consistency and put up some resistance. Slowly I tried to lever it up, but just as I began to lose my patience, it abruptly gave up and promptly flew clean out of the bowl. I clenched my teeth as the men laughed, commenting on how I must surely be some creature other than a man because I could not even eat with those wretched sticks. I knelt there in stony silence until they gradually lost interest and went back to their table for another drink.

Once they had left me, I looked back down at the bowl. I plunged the sticks in once again, but at a shallower depth. This time I succeeded in lifting out a small chunk of steamed rice; my triumph, however, was short-lived, as the rope binding my wrists caused my hand to wobble, and the lump of rice fell back into the bowl.

After several tries, however, I managed to get a morsel into my mouth, though certainly not with the effortless ease that the Annamites had shown when I had watched them eat their rice. I poked about the bowl a bit more. The rice had a distinct tang of fish...apparently _nuoc mam_ was some manner of fish sauce. Once I had haltingly eaten my fill, I put the half-empty bowl down.

The pirates were still drinking. They seemed to have forgotten about me, which meant I would probably be left tied up here for the rest of the night. Now that I would not stand for...

Being the master of ropes, I decided that I had very much had enough of kneeling meekly, and was tired of keeping the pirates placated. I wished to stretch my legs a little...

A few swift flicks of my wrists, and I was soon free, the rope falling to the floor still with all the ropes intact. It was very liberating indeed; I saw no need to stay tied up like I had when that crowd had dragged me off a couple of days ago, seeing as the number of pirates now seemed far less threatening to me. The benefit of freeing myself by far outweighed the risk of being attacked...

Straightening up, I stretched my stiff limbs and rubbed my wrist. I was about to silently slip out of the cabin door when I heard an exclamation from the table. A pirate had spotted me, seeing as I towered conspicuously high over them. His comrades cried out too, and before I could make a hasty exit, I had been grabbed again. Luckily, though, the pirates did not seem to have realised my talents as the master of ropes, and simply tied me up again, double-checking all the knots. They all stared at me warily as I stared back at them, my hands tied a second time. Then, once I had their full attention, I gave a barely perceptible turn of the wrists and the ropes simply fell away again.

'Oh!'

'_Cài này là gi_? What is this?'

A small, arrogant smile curled my lips at the sight of their unabashed awe. I was re-bound no less than three times, and on each occasion I simply made the rope fall to the ground, as if they had not even tied knots in it. I freed myself from four different knots in quick succession, and when I effortlessly escaped from a knot that was so tight it cut off the circulation in my wrists, the pirates ran out of challenges and regarded me with a new form of respect. I had not been named Thày Phù Thuy for nothing...

I held their entire attention; they were like enthralled children when I walked calmly to the table and showed them some of my best tricks. I captivated them just as I had captivated all of my audiences, and soon they were fully in awe of me.

Once my little improvised performance was over, I was welcomed to the table, and given a drink, too. They all chattered excitedly of my boundless talents, while I basked in their praise. I took a swig of the liquid they had put in front of me, then fought back a splutter. It was something very strong and heady; Chinese, I assumed. It burned the throat and made my eyes water, much to the amusement of the pirates. Nevertheless, for the sake of courtesy I took another swig.

'_Ban thich no chù_?' Ngai asked me, wanting to know whether I liked it.

'_Co_,' I affirmed, nodding, trying to stop my voice from sounding too strained. I took another hearty draught to prove my point, then blinked a few times to clear my head from the heady fumes that were filling it. Strangely enough, the more of this beverage I drank, the better it seemed to taste. Soon I was happily throwing it back, while the other pirates chuckled, nudging each other.

'This truly is rather nice,' I murmured conversationally, in considerable surprise. It no longer burned my throat; instead, it spread a fuzzy heat about my larynx, making my voice feel like it wanted to escape from my throat. I did not hold it back, and in ten minutes' time, I began to make earnest conversation.

'_Non, honnêtement! Je n'ai jamais bu quelque chose d'aussi...fruité, mais à la fois aussi fort et...brûlant. Du beau charactère, c'est sûr! C'est vrai que je me considère comme quelque chose d'un connoisseur de vin...c'est bien du vin?_' I chattered aimlessly but in a heartfelt manner, falling into French without knowing it. Luckily, the pirates were too inebriated to notice or even care what tongue I was speaking it. 'No, honestly! I have never drank anything so..._fruity_, but at the same time so strong and..._burning_. It has great character, for sure! It's true that I consider myself something of a conoisseur of wine...is this truly wine?' My voice was entirely out of my control now, jumping from language to language in a bid to express itself. _'Oh_, _che khoob_! _Vaghe'an azash khosham miad! _' I found myself mumbling good-naturedly in Persian, after another swig. 'Oh, that's good! I really do like it!'

I was distantly aware of their drunken sniggering and confused frowns, but I did not care.

'_Vin ou bière, bière ou vin, que mon verre soit toujours plein_,' I sang quietly, quoting from "Faust" in a sudden rush of poetic incitement as I slowly swilled the interesting liquid about in my cup. The warm, foggy waves that were rolling through me threatened to add a lilt to my voice, almost throwing me off key. I gave a soft, delirious chuckle at the possibility. The pirates, however, were not laughing - they were either unconscious, looking awed, or wiping tears from their eyes. Apparently they, too, had been entranced by the unparalleled talent I had, the beautiful voice that I was gifted with. Their wine-addled minds were exposed to me at this moment; they were most vulnerable to my voice now. I grinned with all my teeth, unaware that I was swaying unsteadily as I did so. My cup being almost empty - ooh! well, all four...six...er...two of my cups, actually - I reached out for the bottle. Pouring the wine out was a little challenging, as I was not all that certain which of my four cups to fill up. On top of that, they were blurring into each other in a most uncooperative manner. Frowning in concentration, I succeeded in pouring a generous measure onto the table, then into the only cup that was actually physically there. I took a triumphant swig, feeling a strange sense of euphoria rise drunkenly through me. My mind felt deliciously full of warm, foggy fluff that smothered all memories of the past for a blissful moment, dulling the pain of living, spreading a comforting glow across the bleak, dark sky of my life. My, did I feel poetic all of a sudden...

The walls were beginning to shift most off-puttingly. I was certain that walls were made to stay put...being knowledgeable in architure, I knew very well that they should not be moving in this manner. But then again, we were in a boat...and there was a three-quarters-empty cup of strong Chinese wine in all four and a half of my hands...

I realised my head was beginning to move with the walls, and found myself feeling very tired all of a sudden. Head spinning, I promptly keeled over forwards, my forehead hitting the table with a dull "thunk". I mumbled an inaudible Persian expletive at my state of total inebriation, before passing out entirely.

An Annamite who was still conscious frowned at his companion. 'What did he say?'

'I think Thày Phù Thuy blesses our humble ship and wishes us long life and prosperity,' replied the second Annamite optimistically.

'Ah. _Tôt_.' said his friend. 'Good.'

* * *

Consciousness came slowly, in long, rolling waves of throbbing pain. I was vaguely aware that I was in a recumberent position, although I had no memory whatsoever of lying down. What was more, I felt horrendously awful. My skull felt like something was slowly squeezing it, my throat was raw, and the inside of my mouth tasted like the floor of a distillery. I gave an indistinct groan and blearily opened my eyes.

A wooden ceiling swam into my field of vision. I stared directly upwards for a second, wondering where the hell I was. All I was aware of was that the floor was gently lurching beneath me for some unexplainable reason.

My memories were jumbled; I knew I had spent a very busy few days, and escaped death a couple of times...the details however, were not very clear. I decided my temporary amnesiatic state was due to a lack of wakefulness, so I heaved myself into a sitting position. This, unfortunately, only aggravated my splitting migraine as the blood drained from head, causing me to give another groan and clutch at my throbbing skull, my eyes bloodshot. I had never had a morning like this...

Brief flashes of the previous evening drifted groggily back. Ah, the wine. Oh, _dear_...I was obviously so unaccustomed to this Asian beverage that I had simply been overcome. And now I was sufferring the consequences...

I got painfully to my feet, then promptly staggered as I felt the ground shift slightly. Why was the floor so unsteady? I looked around the plain, wooden room in confusion, then remembered. Aha...I was still aboard the _Vinh Quyen_, which was on the water. I was also still inside the main cabin, where we had dined the previous night. There was no sign of the crew here; they were apparently all outside.

Clutching at my poor, sore head, I left the cabin and was almost blinded by the unbearable sunlight that glared straight into my sensitive eyes. Groaning, I squeezed my eyes shut against the light, staggering blindly back to the safe darkness of the main cabin.

I was just on the verge of curling up in a corner to nurse my splitting headache, when somebody entered the cabin, apparently having seen me when I had stepped outside. It was a young fellow dressed in a drab brown tunic, a grin on his face at the sight of my dreadful state. He was holding a cup of something in his hand, which he set down beside me, gesturing towards it and encouraging me to drink it. I looked at it suspiciously with bloodshot eyes, and he bobbed his head once and left me.

'What could this be...' I grumbled to myself, picking it up. It was hot, still steaming, and smelled vaguely herbal. I assumed it was a remedy of some sort for terrible hangovers...

The drink was bitter but oddly invigorating. I downed it all, placing the cup back down on the ground and rubbing my forehead vigorously. Getting to my feet once more, I found my head marginally clearer and proceeded to make my way out of the cabin.

The sunlight was less intense once I grew used to it; as long as I kept my head down I was spared from the splitting headache. My bare feet, pale under the grime of several days' worth of walking, dragged across the bamboo floor of the boat, as I shuffled to the front. I peered around the corner, and noticed the esteemed crew were gathered about the front, examining the goods they had stolen the previous day. They were a slovenly lot, in the harsh light of day, rather than the violent ruffians I had taken them to be upon our meeting. From my vantage point, I studied the faces that greedily examined the contents of crates.

Of appearance, many of them bore marks of previous fights and struggles...a couple even had very minor disfigurements brought on by their felonious lifestyle. Of course, all of them were handsome devils when compared to me, but I rarely bothered to try and discover whether there was anybody in the world more hideous than I.

My perusal of the pirates was interrupted when I was distracted by a light breeze that blew gently across my bare, protuding cheekbone. Like a child with a short attention span, I turned my head away, half relishing the sensation, half feeling ashamed of the joy it brought me. This shame was something I could not fight; whenever I felt the wind on my bare skin like this I felt a nagging urge to cover it. Ghosts of screams and exclamations of horror echoed in my ears as I turned my face away from the breeze, a scowl curling my lips. Even life's simple pleasures I was denied; echoes of the past always came back to remind me that my head must always be down, my face always out of sight as penance for coming into the world so hideous...

I turned on my heel and retreated into the safe shadows of the cabin.

* * *

Among the older, less comely pirates who always were reserved, bitter and introverted because of their battle-ruined faces, I was regarded as the prince of the disfigured. They seemed to look at my ugliness with some kind of wonder and respect, awed by the way my extreme hideousness surpassed their own deformities. They knew, like I did, of the trials one must face when one's physique is assymetrical and distorted to any extent. But what shocked them the most was the way I bore this burden. To them it seemed as if I did not care, as if my horrible death's-head was something I had accepted as part of who I was. They saw the way I carried myself with dark majesty, when they themselves - they, whose faces were hardly scratched at all, compared to mine! - kept their features averted in shame. Thày Phù Thuy became the embodiment of all that was unexplicable to them, all that was ugly but curiously elegant and graceful at the same time...a walking paradox. I paid them no heed; I kept to my shadowy corner in the main cabin, invisible but for my smouldering eyes. I was a ghost, a god, a spirit - I was Thày Phù Thuy. The part of me that was Erik seemed so bland and _boring_ compared to the decadent, hideous magnificence of the silent Thày Phù Thuy...I decided that I might as well forget about Erik for the moment, since I felt so liberated when I was not trying to be a simple mortal man like the rest of the world...

At night, though, all the creatures, monsters and men I had ever been pooled their collective memories together to bring me terrible images in that quiet moment of peace before I slept. Curled up in my corner, far from the crew, I clutched at my poor head, wishing for the amnesiatic bliss that I had experienced on my first night aboard the _Vinh Quyen_. Bent almost into a full circle, I twisted my fingers into my black locks, tugging at my scalp, hoping the pain would keep me from the dreams I knew I would have. But all creatures, no matter how monstrous, must sleep eventually, and so I unwillingly fell into restless slumber, vulnerable to the vicious violence of my own mind...

_I was in the darkness...in the darkness so deep underground that the light of day was but a mere fanciful memory, and eyesight meant nothing. However, for some reason I could distinguish the odd silhouette here and there...even so, all that I was predominantly aware of was the oppressive, deep darkness that stretched out to infinity above and around me. I had no doubt about where I was: I had somehow ended up in the pit of corpses again._

_'I must leave...I have to leave...' I muttered deliriously to myself, clawing myself upright using the nearest wall. The blackness was so thick and cold and oppressive that it was difficult to breathe, and I began to become wary of what might be hiding in the shadows - what I could _sense_ was hiding in the shadows, all around me, watching me! I flattened myself against the wall, then hunched myself over defensively, trying to see just what it was that was hiding in the blackness. I had always been so vain of my mastery of the dark...but now this darkness was not ordinary, safe darkness, but the wild, dangerous, terrible darkness inside my own head -_

'Child!'

_I jumped, my entire body stiffening in shock. The harrowingly familiar voice froze me, making my blood turn to ice in my veins. I knew that voice well - I knew that hateful tone, too! It was the voice that had lodged itself irreversibly inside my poor head and made me carry it across the world with me...it was the first voice I ever remembered hearing, the voice that had deep, torturous roots within me. The voice of my mother, whom I had only known for the first seven years of my life..._

'Child!'

_I clutched at my head, trying to block it out. 'No - leave me!' I shouted. 'You are simply a delusion...go away! Va-t'en! Laisse-moi tranquille!' My own words sounded pitiful in comparison with the power of the distant, female voice, the voice made infinitely powerful by pure seething disgust and hatred. She had never named me...she only called me by what I was, not who I was. That was because I was not anyone, and I had to create my own identity or have one created for me against my will._

'You are a disgrace!' _that terrible voice yelled at me. '_To think a creature of my own flesh could be so wicked, deceitful - evil! I know well what you have been doing all these years - I know of every single man you robbed, lied to, tricked, murdered! I have seen every sin you have committed! You fully deserve to be left to rot amongst this pile of corpses!'

_'No!' I bawled back defiantly into the malignant shadows. 'No, I do not! You have no hold on me! I am no longer a powerless child!'_

'Then what are you?' _taunted the awful voice. _'Certainly not a man! Look at yourself - how can you be blind enough to believe yourself anything above a beast or a monster?'

_'It is YOU who made me what I am!' I screamed, my knuckles turning white, ready to crack the paper-thin skin again. A cold laugh echoed all around me._

'Did I instruct you to run away from your only home?' _the voice challenged._ 'Did I tell you to kill all those men? Did I not try and force into your beastly, twisted little mind the notions of right and wrong?'

_I faltered, knowing my defeat but not wishing to accept it. However, before I could open my mouth to defend myself, the voice rang out again:_

'All those men, child - all those men who died at your hands or were victim of your tricks - they are here now! They are here in this very pit with you! And they deserve their vengeance!'

_'No!'_

_I could only watch helplessly as a harsh, red light flickered about the walls of the pit, illuminating the grisly bodies that lay around me, in numbers to great for comfort. As one, the corpses twitched and shifted, raising themselves to their feet and making their way towards me. Those that could not raise themselves clawed their way painfully across the ground with dreadful, inexorable movements, reaching out to pull me down with them. My eyes flashed from corpse to corpse in panic. I was outnumbered, encircled, powerless! Even the darkness was pressing down upon me! Bodies crawled towards me, heads lolled horribly on necks that I myself had broken, sunken eyes glared at me with a deep hunger for revenge._

_'No! No, leave me! Stay back!' I snarled, but my voice became increasingly desperate as the crowd closed in on me, ready to tear me apart. The claustrophobia set my heart racing, and I felt mad with terror..._

'You cannot escape from them...you can never escape!'_ the voice mocked me as I spun around in my ever-tightening circle of empty space._ 'You are not a complete man, nor a complete corpse - but they will remedy that! It is all you deserve; you were born a beast, and you did nothing to counter it! You behaved just like any evil little creature would! You refused to keep your head down and do what you were told - you are a monster!'

_'No!' I choked, struggling to stay upright as the hundreds of twisted hands closed around me. I writhed and thrashed, then managed to beat them away only to have them return. 'No! I am not a monster!' I cried._

'Then _what_ are you?' _the voice thundered back derisively._

_I bawled at the top of my lungs: 'I...AM...ERIK!!'_

I woke abruptly, my eyes opening. The dream faded, but the adrenaline still stung in my veins, my limbs tense and my skin covered in perspiration. Hazy, early-morning light came into the main cabin, revealing to my eyes the excited gathering of pirates around me. It seemed that I had been crying out or thrashing in my sleep, and they had come to have a look. Apparently their attention had been redirected to a more interesting matter, as one of them now held my pouch of priceless gemstones and gold coins while the others chattered in excited awe. I cursed inwardly, scowling as I pushed a lock of dark, damp hair out of my eyes. My movements must have uncovered that pouch, causing it to be instantly grabbed.

Sitting up, I rubbed my head. I was certainly happy to be awake...it was no wonder that I hardly slept. I got to my feet, and the pirate Ngai saw me, giving me a crooked-toothed leer.

'Thày Phù Thuy should have told us of his fortune!' he gloated. 'Aboard the _Vinh Quyen_, all of the crew share! We shall be taking this to its proper place now.'

'_Không sao_,' I replied calmly, with a negligent shrug. 'Very well, Ngai. As you wish...' Then I added under my breath: 'But be aware that Thày Phù Thuy's riches are magical, like he is, and they could very well disappear from right under your noses...'

My quiet warning proved true a few minutes later when I brushed past the pirates on the way out, and the pouch mysteriously vanished from Ngai's belt only to unexplainably reappear deep within the folds of my tunic. The funny thing was, the idiots didn't even notice and continued to gloat as I walked out onto the deck. I estimated it would take them a while to realise, so I had about ten minutes' peace of mind ahead of me. I sat on the very back of the boat, dangling my feet over the murky water.

I shook my head. What was I doing here...?


	5. Chapter 5: Severing Ties

_**A/N:** Happy New Year! Hooray! I stayed up late last night because Phantom of the Opera was actually on TV...and there was me complaining about there being no good films on French TV at new year. Thanks to BleedingHeartConservative (The book's really just only one little part of his life...it's nice to try and see the bigger picture. So glad you like it!) and fantomesrose (That's OK - I'm actually supposed to be revising at the moment for my exams which are in...gulp...four days. I'll try and keep my updating fast!) for the reviews, they made me very happy!_

**

* * *

**

I was never given an moment's respite; the awe of the crew followed me everywhere, impossible to dislodge. Except it wasn't just awe - it was a curious combination of wonder, disgust, reverence and near-derision that they appeared to show me. Only sometimes I saw fear in their eyes; they were not easy men to scare.

Surprisingly enough, I found out that most of the crew were not full-time pillaging cut-throats. Just about all of them were normally fishermen by trade, who earned a very modest wage and had succumbed to the lures of piracy. They had families, wives, children, mothers, and were actually quite respectable if one was to overlook the plundering and murdering they did. I could almost pity them, if I had any pity left for anyone other than myself in the first place...

But what truly got under my skin was the way they assumed control over me, sometimes forgetting their childish wonder at the powers of Thày Phù Thuy and seeing me instead as their prisoner or captive. The truth was, I was beginning to tire of life aboard the small vessel, albeit having only spent just under a fortnight there. I needed to remind them that nobody - _nobody_! - has control over the great Thày Phù Thuy, Siyah Hayalet, Silent Viper, _whatever_ I was! My days of humble, floor-scraping servitude had long gone, and I was free to do what I liked.

_'__Ê! Ban!_ Hey, you!' A mean-sounding voice cut through my thoughts. Sighing deep in my throat, I turned my head with all the langour of royalty from where I sat perched upon the edge of the boat.

My yellow eyes suddenly flew open in surprise as a hand reached out and tugged me off my sitting place by my shirt. I would have landed in an ungainly tangle of limb upon the deck was I not endowed with sharp reflexes and quick movements. Instead I landed on both feet, not unlike a cat, only to have the hand of my aggressor angrily grab a fistful of the front of my tunic. I think he meant to lift me off my feet at first, as was his habit, but seeing as I was considerably taller than him, he gave it a rapid downward tug instead, bending my back sharply so that our heads were at even height. Though who in their right mind would _want_ my head at the height of theirs was unclear...I assumed this meant the man was rather angry.

'The jewels! Where are they?' he growled, the leathery skin of his face contorted in a vicious frown. It was one of the older, brawnier pirates - obviously sent to politely question me by the others, since he seemed to exert the most physical influence on people. The back of my tunic's neckline was cutting into my skin now, and although I had the strength to stand, I knew it would be at the expense of my clothes. Instead, I fixed his angry, earth-brown eyes with my own brazier-like gaze and gave him a cool, feline smile.

'I warned you they were magical and disappeared when in the wrong hands,' I replied smoothly and calmly. The tanned Annamite frowned; although in this country a man was a fool if he did not respect the world of spirits and magic, he felt slightly suspicious of me.

'Prove it. Turn out your pockets!' he ordered. I did so obediently, but he was not satisfied. 'Your tunic - the bag is under your tunic, then, as we found it first!'

My mind raced. I needed to leave, and quickly. I had had enough here, and they could not hold me. But I was in a tight corner now...I could feel the reassuring presence of the dagger that had found its way into the folds of my clothing for safekeeping...but I did not want to take the murderer's way out.

Instead, I would take the magician's way out.

The basic trick of most illusions is to distract the audience's attention. In the body of the performer once more, I did a very simple, fast-acting trick that completely stunned my "audience". Technically speaking, it knocked him out, but in all truth I didn't particularly care.

My exit would have been smoother if there had not been witnesses...the thump of an unconscious body hitting a bamboo deck tends to attract unwanted attention. But before they could rush at me, I had sharply turned and thrown myself clean overboard.

There wasn't exactly that far to fall, to be frank, but I angled my body to plunge as deep into the water as I could. When I opened my eyes, I realised this did not really matter - the water was so murky with the mud of the plains that anything at least a metre beneath the surface was invisible to those above. Nevertheless, time was of the essence; I knew they would pursue me, and a narrow vessel like the _Vinh Quyen_ could effortlessly catch up with a swimmer. So I kicked my legs out in the blurry, green-brown water and set off at a right-angle from where I had entered the water. It was difficult to navigate in this obscurity, but soon I managed to reach a thicket of reeds before I had to take a breath. Making sure I was well-hidden, I let my head rise above the surface of the lukewarm, murky water and caught my breath as quietly as possible. I could see the _Vinh Quyen_ quite nearby; they were looking me, scrambling like monkeys onto the roof of the cabin to spy for me. I put my head quickly under the water once again, to avoid being seen. As my throat began to burn for more air, I wondered how long I would be able to go on like this. I would need to escape from the pirates, but to do so I would have to leave the safety of the reed bed and swim underwater until I was far enough to risk taking another breath. I grimaced; that seemed to be miles. How could I possibly achieve it?

As I floated there amongst the reeds, the burning power of Thày Phù Thuy seemed to have left me. I felt like Erik once more - a normal man, able to drown or be caught and killed like any other. I felt almost...helpless.

Ah, but not _so_ helpless! Although Erik is a man, he does not have the weakness of one - he will not weep and give himself up for doomed. He is more intelligent than normal men, and is the master of logic. And if Erik is hiding from people who mean him harm, in a bed of reeds at the borders of a river with no means of escape without fainting from oxygen deprivation, what will he do? He will _make_ himself a way to breathe - using a trick so simple it is almost magical! Yes...

I had a knife. I had vegetation to anchor myself to, and to hide behind. It was foolproof.

I took out the blade I had stolen and quickly set to work on one of the reeds. My deft hands had found one that looked suitably old but resilient, and soon I had cut through the stem and was holding it in my hands. Another incision severed the top while I held myself steady by winding my legs about the other reeds, and then my heart leapt with triumph as my deductions proved right and I saw the reed was indeed hollow in the middle.

I risked a glance above the water. The _Vinh Quyen_ was sweeping the area; I would not be able to swim out, for in this murky water I would risk losing my way and hitting the bottom of the boat...I had no choice but to stay put.

I tested my reed. Yes, it was fully functional, and easily lost amongst the thousands of other reeds clustered about the river. I let myself sink, breathing through the reed, tasting the rank, sour taste of old river vegetation in my mouth.

I had no idea how long I waited there; it seemed like hours. There came a horrible moment when something sinewy and thick brushed my leg, and I recalled the many mishaps I had had with snakes throughout the course of my life. Of course there would be _millions_ of water-snakes in this cursed place...and many other unsavoury creatures. I tried not to think of the horrible little invisible things that were most probably attempting to invade my system at that very moment. Oh, the joy of travelling, sometimes...

I stayed for a very long time, lurking beneath the surface like a waterlogged corpse. But of course, every corpse in the water ends up bobbing to the surface, so I tentatively put my head up.

The coast was clear. No sign of the accursed vessel. I could now escape.

Grimly taking my reed from my lips, I slipped out of the reed bed and began to undertake the longest swim I ever had in my whole miserable life.

* * *

When I finally reached a solid bank, panting and soaked to the skin, it was well and truly night. My flesh stung from a thousand insect bites, and my muscles were aching so much I could scarcely even stand. I rose from the dark depths of the water like an undead creature from a horror story, staggering across the soft, earthy ground only to collapse at the foot of a large cluster of bushes. I curled up immediately under their shelter, my thin chest heaving. As I lay there, despondent in my exhaustion, I began to realise that my entire body was shaken by something. For a brief moment I felt worried, and then I realised to my great surprise that for the first time in many years, I was actually shivering like any man would. My limbs were stiff and trembling, curled against my body to keep the heat in. The long swim and the night air upon my soaked skin were apparently having their physical effect. I curled myself into a tighter ball, and gradually the shaking stopped and I felt sufficiently at ease to begin to feel the effects of the tiredness sweeping over me. Within seconds my eyes were closed and I was drifting inexorably to sleep...

* * *

'_Lêve-toi, le mort,' the coarse voice ordered me impatiently. 'Get up, corpse.'_

_I clutched my head. Not this again..._

_'I'm not a corpse,' I growled up at the dark, filthy bulk of the man before me. 'I'm ALIVE!'_

_A glint of yellow teeth above me. 'That's what brings the crowds in,' I was reminded. 'Now get up, before you have to start the day with a lashing.'_

_'No...'_

Something tugged insistently at my clothes. I bared my teeth angrily. 'I said leave me _alone_!' With the force of my speech, I opened my eyes and had a moment of disorientation when I looked about and saw not the dingy confines of my childhood cage, but a strip of land that ran along the edge a green-brown river, bordered with vibrantly verdant rice paddies. I felt another tug at my tunic and looked down irritably. To my surprise, I was faced with a curious, brown-furred monkey, that looked at me with a bewildered face, caught in the act of searching me for food.

'Agh! Get away!' I cried in shock, unused to being accosted by animals in this manner just after waking. The creature bolted immediately, disappearing into the bushes. Grumbling, I got to my feet, wincing as I stretched the muscles that had been so terribly worn the day before. I decided it was best to get moving straight away; for now the waterside here would not be very safe for me if I wanted to evade the pirates. I could see a cluster of houses ahead, and some way beyond that the beige haze of Haiphong. I had covered quite some distance it seemed; but then again, I was a rather exceptional fellow at times like this...

I made my way with speedy stealth over the ground, taking care not to draw attention to myself, for as I drew nearer to the houses, the more horribly aware I became of the uncovered state of my face. Surely I had thought to keep something with me for such a situation...

For a while I rummaged in the voluminous pockets of my fabric trousers, and then triumphantly drew out with a flourish a rather soggy but fully functional length of material that I deftly used to cover myself. Satisfied that I would not arouse more than odd glances, I continued resolutely upon my way, unsure where exactly I was headed. I decided that I may as well dip into Haiphong once again, to acquire fresh garments, and then from there I was not sure -

Abruptly, I stumbled upon a large break in the thin shrubbery. This break was long and certainly not natural, and through the centre of it ran two long metal bars crossed with planks of wood, raised upon a long hill of small stones. For a second I stared at it, bewildered, then realised that I was looking at a train track. Having left France and its developing industrial technology far behind, this was one of the very first times that I happened to stumble across something modern in a country as far-flung as this. I looked up and down the length of the track, wondering to where it led. I surmised it passed through or started from a station in Haiphong, and led to a northern city...perhaps even the capital. It was an odd sight; a modern, French railway track so near to the native Annamite houses and wild, dusty shrubbery. The metal glinted at me under the baking sun, and I narrowed my eyes, looking south. If I entered Haiphong, I would surely find the station and perhaps even gain admission on board a train north. I smiled to myself. Yes..._there_ was an idea!

* * *

Almost three hours later, the first half of my plan had been carried out in a most satisfying manner. I had passed swiftly enough through the town - only stopping once to take a little detour around the hospital, where a rather fine false nose mysteriously found its way my possession - and arrived at the Haiphong station fully equipped with my new nose and a cleaner, more elegant set of garments. My rather emaciated appearence did indeed draw some glances, since I daresay I still looked quite a sight even with my disguise. However, I was fully able to purchase myself a ticket to the northern town of Hanoi, and finally acquaint myself with these new, modern contraptions...

I now sat perched upon one of the wooden benches inside the long, green train, my posture rather stiff due to the slight roughness of the track that shook the carriages as the train trundled through the wild Asian countryside. I was glad of the fact that I had been given quite a large berth by my fellow passengers; none had taken the places on the bench beside me or opposite me, so I was free to gaze out of the large, paneless rectangular window undisturbed. The gentle breeze stirred my hair, and I noticed that as we passed through the rolling fields shrouded with grey-blue mist, old, gnarly men and women paused in their farming work to come close to the track and stare at the train as it went by. There gazes were not so much stares of wonder as stares of distrust; in their eyes, this long metal snake that blew thick clouds of smoke into the misty air and had come to their country with the French, was something unnatural and best avoided.

I smiled as I leaned back into the shadows, out of the feeble light of the hazy sun. It seemed that I had spent so long in less developed, eastern countries, that technology had progressed without me. I regretted this somewhat; clever machines full of tricks like this one had always fascinated me, and I would have had so much to contribute to had I been given the option of staying in France...

As the train curved lazily around a bend in the track, I took a deep breath, catching the rancid scent of diesel fumes in the air. No wonder the native folk seemed so suspicious of this train; it smelt as if it was showering soot over the fields it passed through...

'_...et c'est bien de pouvoir enfin prendre le train pour le trajet Haiphong-Hanoi_,' a male voice was saying somewhere to my far left. I listened in interest to the sound of the language I had long left behind. '_J'avais ras-le-bol d'être tout le temps obligé a voyager en bateau - surtout quand j'entendais toujours des histoires horribles à propos de ces satanés pirates_...'

At the mention of the pirates, I felt for a moment strangely unsettled, until I regained my composure. The Frenchman was only speaking to his companion about how much better and safer taking the train to Hanoi was than taking the boat and risking the pirates, which he had always been told horrible stories about...there was nothing really worth listening to. I crossed my arms, letting my gaze wander across the vast expanse of humid country spread as far as the eye could see, and let myself relax to a certain degree.

* * *

The journey to Hanoi was long, and by the end of it I was creeping closer to the window, a little of my claustrophobia beginning to seep in from my prolonged confinement so near to the dozens of passengers that were in the same compartment as I was. The fact that most of them were French brought back distant memories of the chattering crowds I had faced, crowds that had cried out in the same tongue that these others were speaking in now. A few of the wealthier Annamites were there, too, and although they did not bring back any unpleasant childhood memories, they did add to the discomfort I felt. However, I managed to adequately distract myself by keeping my face turned to the window, which had no glass in it and allowed the warm breeze to dry the perspiration from my temples. I knew I was taking a risk by having a false nose as my only disguise, but I felt slightly better knowing that I looked _almost_ bearable to look at. Since disease was rife in some corners of the country, I would probably be regarded as a poor, harmless man who had been stricken by a tropical fever and left looking a little thin on his bones. Probably.

Looking out of the window, I could now clearly see Hanoi in the distance up ahead. As I looked down, I noticed we had left the land and were travelling along a very high bridge, presumably over a branch of the Red River itself. I could see the sparkle of water, and I marvelled at the progress these colonial men had made; this huge, long iron bridge was a true feat of engineering, seeing as it was built over a river that doubtlessly became fierce during the flooding season.

The bridge itself was split into three narrow lanes, the middle one along which the train now travelled. The other two were crowded by pedestrians who, unlike the farmers in the fields I had seen before, paid no heed whatsoever to the green metal carriages that steamed steadily past them. I noticed that almost all of the users of the other two lanes were mounted upon worn, well-used bicycles, on which there was balanced a great range of merchandise and items taken to be sold on both sides of the river. The loads they carried seemed almost comical in their impossibility - how could they balance such a cargo upon two delicate wheels? If one person was to overbalance or even make the slightest wobble, their load would come crashing down, in turn unbalancing others, until every person on the bridge toppled over like a line of dominoes. I was seized by the most bizarre, childish urge to cause one of them to overbalance, but I quickly crushed it, knowing that I had long passed the age of boyish mischief.

After a while, we reached the end of the bridge. I caught sight of a fine metal plaque bolted to the ironwork, which bore the words "Pont Doumer" upon it. Doumer bridge...well, it had certainly impressed me. I sat back once more, eager to explore the rest of this town...

* * *

Like a child, I wandered through the streets of the east side of Hanoi. These streets were given interesting names..._Rue des Eventails_, Fan Road..._Rue de la Soie_, Silk Road...each street seemed to be named according to what was sold there. I made my way through the crowds without even noticing them, so taken I was by what I saw. Magnificent paper lanterns of every colour, stacks of red candles, bright songbirds twittering away in bamboo cages, rolls of silk and fine brocade spilling over stalls...ah, what memories that brought of the fine waistcoats I wore in Persia! But not only were my eyes assaulted by this grandeur, but my other senses were equally pounced upon. Lan Ong Street met me with a wave of delightful scent as I passed it, the mixed aroma of hundreds of sacks of medicinal leaves, roots, powders and bark. What rich commerce there was here! And the _Rue des Changeurs_ housed the finest jewelry makers and provided money exchange as well. In this street I traded some of the remaining precious stones in my bag for a large sum, despite the exchanger giving me a strange look as I handed over a funereal necklace. I would probably have to dissemble some of the bracelets, anklets and necklaces later to avoid further suspicion...

A short walk took me along another road, the _Rue du Pont en Bois_ - the Wooden Bridge Road, which was near the Ho Hoan Kiem lake. As I went on my way, I passed many old women selling flowers along that road. The scent of the delicate bouquets and the fragile, blossom-laden branches was rather pleasing, and I left it with reluctance.

While I paused before a brocade shop, having come in a full circle now back to the _Rue de la Soie_, I heard a small voice very plainly and very clearly to my left.

'Maman, why is that man's nose so shiny?'

'_Léon_!' hissed the child's mother, mortified. 'Don't point, it's rude!' There was a pause in which the woman observed me. It was a very long pause. Obviously she was just as amazed as her child at my skeletal appearance... 'He must be...very ill, that's all,' she finished, then added in a stronger voice: 'It's not polite to stare.'

'But _you're_ staring.'

'Now you hush, young man!' A few moments later, she murmured: 'He _must_ be ill.'

I rolled my eyes then left the stall, sweeping away into the street. The well-dressed mother and her child both stared as I went past, my garments billowing impressively from my thin limbs. Just before I passed them, however, I quickly bent down to the level of the wide-eyed child and whispered to him in a confidential tone:

'The nose is fake.'


End file.
